Question of Loyalty
by kimmary
Summary: Set immediately after Semper Fidelis, Tony and Gibbs consider their actions - and what this means for both Ziva and their future as a team. Can she forgive and forget, and more importantly - does she want to?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS, the characters or their story lines – I have just temporarily borrowed them for my own (and your) entertainment…**

A/N: So, I decided on trying another one-shot – using Semper Fidelis as my muse along with the preview for the season finale… Hope you like. If you do, please use some of your own words to leave a review. 'Cos I love them… And it gives me some clue whether I should go back to my day job or not…

**Question of loyalty**

He kept replaying the scene, like a movie in his head. Could he have done it differently? Would he have done it differently? Probably not. There really was no choice – his life or Rivkin's And if he had let Rivkin live – would Ziva have been safe?

Rivkin was a murderer – he had killed one of their agents, he had taken out the very same terrorist cell that he himself had set up. And, he was willing to kill Tony. Rivkin would have, had he not been prepared. He allowed himself a small, fleeting smile – the ninja taught him well.

Ziva – the look on her face when she walked in and saw him alive and Rivkin dead - said it all. If he ever needed confirmation as to how she felt, that was the defining moment. And now, he had lost everything that meant anything to him – Ziva, his family, his job. And, if Vance's directive was anything to go by, the least of his worries would be his position at NCIS. He sighed, turning back to the report in front of him.

It was late, very late, or very early. They would be leaving for Israel in a couple of hours. But he wanted, no needed, to get this report finished. He shifted in his chair and hissed, unbearable pain shooting through his shoulder. They had wanted to give him painkillers in the hospital, but he refused, knowing how goofed he got on them. And he needed a straight head to write this down.

He knew that the report could potentially put the final nail in his coffin, that the words he chose could be used against him. But he still couldn't help the emotion that poured onto the page, as he frantically did his staccato one-handed tap on the keyboard. Words that could potentially paint him as the bad guy, instead of the hero.

But Ziva's face kept flashing in front of his eyes, and he continued resolutely on. Perhaps, this act of selflessness would pay off. Or perhaps it was the guilt speaking. Not guilt for killing Rivkin – oh no – he had it coming. But the guilt for hurting the woman he had grown so accustomed too.

Had he just done to Ziva, what Ari had done to Gibbs, to him? Maybe, that is what killed him most about this whole sordid mess.

Her eyes were her best form of communication. He always knew what they were saying, even if her words contradicted them. Then she came through that door, moments after his shots were fired. Her eyes took in the scene, realization that Rivkin was dead and he wasn't reflected, and then her eyes fell on him. Dark, distant, shuttered, closed.

After Gibbs pulled her off Rivkin's body, she sat in the corner and he could see that he had lost her. If he had her. Now he was questioning even that. She didn't look up when the paramedics came in, checked him over or strapped him to the gurney and had taken him away. There wasn't even that under the lashes look she gave, when she pretended she wasn't watching and actually was.

Ironic really, had this been any other case, any other place, she would have been the one that demanded the paramedics take her with. She would have been the one that would rush into the emergency ward, intimidating nurses and doctors alike. She would have been the one with the unshed tears barely clinging to her eyelashes, threatening to escape down her cheeks. But, it _was_ this case, and Abby was the one that filled Ziva's role. It was Abby that insisted on driving him home, when he refused to stay overnight for observation. And it was Abby who threatened him bodily, forcing him to go to bed, while she lay watching outside his bedroom door.

And because it was Abby, she had fallen asleep. He was able to step over her, and sneak out of his own home. And so, now he sat at his desk, trying his damndest to write this report.

* * *

"Is he okay?" It was the first time in hours that she had spoken.

She hadn't said a word when he pulled her off Rivkin's body as she knelt, trying to hold the jagged edges of his chest together as his lifeless blood pooled out around her knees. She sat stoically in the corner as Ducky did the examination and didn't even look up as Tony was wheeled out by the paramedics. Her eyes didn't flicker, when he grasped her by the tops of her arms, pulling her up and out of her home, taking her instead to the security of his own.

He had pushed her into the shower, fully clothed, and still covered in her lover's blood. And sat waiting patiently in the passageway as she slid down the shower wall, wrapped her arms around her knees and silently cried. When he could hear movement again, he quietly stood and walked down to his basement, knowing she would find him there.

Dressed in his gray NIS sweats – baggy and falling off her – she downed the shot of bourbon he offered her. She had wanted to go for a run, he knew without her even saying so. But he refused, knowing that if he let her go, she would start running and wouldn't stop. Instead, he handed her a piece of sandpaper and allowed her freedom of his prized boat.

And now, after several hours, she spoke…

"Is he okay?"

Gibbs hesitated for a moment, before answering: "No, he is not."

She lifted her head, and for a split second, he saw raw emotion flash there, before she masked it again. "I thought it was just his shoulder?"

Again Gibbs hesitated, this time for dramatic effect rather than concern. "Oh, his shoulder will be fine. It was a clean enough dislocation."

Again, that flicker of guarded emotion. "But, you said…"

"You asked if he is okay. And, no, he is not. He won't be okay for a long time."

"Good." Came her vehement reply. A response he expected when she was faced with a cold-blooded killer, a terrorist that had meet his come-uppance, but not with regards to Tony.

She took a deep breath and continued: "Perhaps now he will be more considerate when he shoots dead a Mossad officer."

Gibbs shook his head. It was not the time to correct her mangled English, or her absurd statement. She would realise in her own time.

They continued, in silence. The only sound the satisfying rasping of sandpaper. Does wood hold memories? He sure as hell hopes not. Because if it does, this damn boat will sink as soon as it hits the water, with all the sadness, anger and frustration that had been sanded into it, since he started building.

Ziva herself had been here on more than one occasion. At least this time she had avoided taking her knife to his craftsmanship. Although, if she had - he would have felt better. She would have responded more, well, Ziva-like. This person, he didn't quite know how to deal with. He wasn't sure what had affected her more, Rivkin's death or Tony's involvement?

She knew better than anyone, that every reaction has a consequence – even more so when the director of Mossad is involved.

She had been forced to choose once before and she had chosen NCIS over family. And that was before she had any loyalties to them. But now, who would she side with? Where do her loyalties lie? And if forced to, which family would she ultimately choose. A week ago, he could have answered that question with certainty, but now? He wasn't so sure.

Lost in his own musings, he hadn't noticed that the bourbon had done its job. Ziva had fallen asleep under the hull of the boat.

He sighed, pulled out an old blanket and covered her. He wouldn't be sleeping tonight, but it was best that she did. She would need her strength for the next few days. He would wait till morning to tell her what Tony already knew – that they were headed to Israel.

As she so rightly stated, you cannot shoot a Mossad agent without repercussion. Even if the shoot is clean and justified - at least in his own mind.

He sat, pouring himself another drink, watching her sleep. He put his head to his hands. What had he done, to Ziva, to Tony, to the team? He was as much to blame as his senior agent for the events of the evening. He knew what he was doing when he asked Tony to follow Rivkin. He knew how Tony felt. He knew that potentially Rivkin would die and hell, if he were honest with himself, he expected it. He couldn't be guiltier if he pulled the trigger himself.

But he didn't and Tony did. Now they had been ordered to Israel. It could go one of two ways – neither of which he relished. But, what were his choices?


	2. Chapter 2 Reality Bites?

**Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS, the characters or their story lines – I have just temporarily borrowed them for my own (and your) entertainment…**

A/N: Okay, so this was originally a one-shot, but I have had requests that I continue it and in light of Aliyah, I have decided to. I know there are a few of these floating around, so please let me know if I should continue this, or give it up and concentrate on something else.

I am going to continue where I left off, and as such will run parallel to the season finale, before going off on my own tangent…

**Chapter two: ****Reality bites?**

"Pack your bags," he said, "You are going to Israel," he said…. What bags did Vance expect her to pack exactly? Ziva thought crossly. Would that be the limited gear she kept at the office? Because she sure as hell wouldn't be going back to her apartment, now would she? All that was left of it was smoldering ashes, thanks to Mossad and their perfectly implemented bomb.

She was angry, frustrated and completely confused. Should she have told Gibbs earlier about her suspicions? Could she have avoided the confrontation that happened between Tony and Michael, or would it have eventually happened anyway? Should she have requested the forced extraction earlier? Was anything with Michael real, or was he biding his time in DC? What would happen when they landed in Israel? Would Tony come back; would she? Did she even care?

She liked control. She needed to be in control of every situation. And she knew she was far from that now. Seeing Tony's report on Gibbs' desk, she sat down and started to read. Her eyes swimming as she took in each emotive word. Again, she was torn, between loyalty to her partner, her friend, the man whom she denied loving even to herself; and her ex-partner, childhood friend, and a man she thought she could love, eventually.

She was Mossad. She was NCIS. Which was stronger - the assassin or the agent? Was she a killer or an investigator? Did she follow orders or question them? Who was she? Where did she fit? Did she even know? Ultimately, there was only one thing she could trust and that is the facts. Something was happening, something huge that meant more than her life, or Tony's for that matter. Something that could potentially devastate and she needs to know more. She had been kept in the dark for far too long. The few vague pieces she had managed to gather weren't enough to take to Gibbs. For now, she felt she needed to protect the team and the only way to do that was to put as much space, emotionally and physically, between them as possible. Gibbs rule #4: best way to keep a secret? Keep it to yourself. Second best? Tell one other person – it you must. There is no third best.

And for now… keeping it to herself was definitely the best option.

* * *

Homecoming – should be a time of happiness, of joy – but there was nothing happy or joyful about this reunion. It hadn't taken her father long to have Tony locked up in the "interview" room. The fact that he was the one doing the… questioning, was in itself telling, Ziva thought. The director doesn't get his own hands dirty, he has staff for that. Was it because Tony shot Rivkin, or was it because he knew how close they are…were? She shook her head. Did he think that his position, both as head of Mossad, and as her father (in that order, always) would intimidate Tony. His Intel must be surprisingly lacking.

It didn't shock her, therefore, when Tony had her father admit Michael was acting under his orders. Oh, it hurt, it definitely hurt. But, it was what she had come to expect when dealing with her father. She turned on her heel and walked out the room. To the casual observer, it might have seemed that she was reacting to the news that her lover had been using her as a cover, under her father's orders. But this was as far from the truth as it could be. Yes, she and Michael had been lovers. It had been easy to slip back into that…kind of relationship. Revisiting what they had one and off for years. And so necessary, for both of them.

But for some time now, pretty much since she had been reassigned back to her home country after Jenny had died, she knew that something was… what was that American term… Aleg, Atoe.. no, afoot. Yes, that was the term they all used, something was afoot. Or as Abby would say: Things are pretty hinky. Ziva never understood what Abby was getting at, until now. Hinky is an apt description. The problem was, no-one, from either side was giving her enough information to know exactly what the situation was.

Even Michael, when she queried him, had sent her an obtuse email. Phrases came floating back to her now: "_Ziva, You must understand that any further information will compromise my mission…. Your questions put me in a difficult position… your concern is noted and even touching… I cannot give you a satisfactory answer..."_

She slammed her fist against the wall in frustration. Who can she trust? Of course she is mourning her childhood friend's death, the loss of what could have been. And yes, she pushed Tony away. Despite what they all think – she is only human. Damn Gibbs. Five years ago she would have been content to accept what is, just is. You kill or be killed. You move on. You don't forge bonds, and you sure as hell don't make emotional connections. Now, she was an investigator, she questioned things. The problem was, to get close to what was really going on, would mean completely alienating those who she had come to think of as family.

Looking up in the glass reflection, she saw Tony behind her. Time to get into role again. Thank goodness her father had allowed her those acting lessons as a child.

Narrowing her eyes, she spun round, confronting him. Their voices bouncing off each other, as she vented her frustration.

And just in case he wasn't completely clear on where she stood, she pushed her point home with the barrel of her gun, first to his chest and then to his knee.  
Realisation and pain flooded his eyes: _"You loved him?"_ he asked. She deflected the question:_ "I guess now I will never know."_

As quickly as it began, it ended, with her walking away, without even glancing back, leaving him lying, humiliated and broken on the ground.

She had confronted her father next. And his words just cemented her belief that her actions were justified. There was nothing the others could do. They were not trained for this. And if her plan was to succeed, she would need her father, and his agents to believe she was fully committed and to do that, well, to do that would mean that she would have to walk away from the last five years of her life.

She waited until Tony and Vance had boarded, before calling Gibbs. She purposively stood with her back to her father, so that while her words and his could be heard, only Gibbs would see her eyes. She just hoped that he would understand why she was doing this. "_You of all people know how important trust is_," He stared deep into her eyes, and she knew he got what she was saying. He looked past her to her father, and nodded, still staring into her eyes. The slight dip of her chin was her only acknowledgment. He leaned in, surprising her, as he kissed her check. "Take care of yourself," he whispered, knowing that whatever mission she was embarking on from here on out, he couldn't help her with, she was on her own.

Ziva stood watching as the plane took off, watching until it disappeared into the blue sky. She wished that she had been able to say goodbye to Tony. To tell him that she didn't blame him for Michael's death, that he was already dead, long before Tony fired those shots to his chest. That she was touched Tony risked everything, including his life, to try and protect her. She wished that her final memory of him would be twinkling eyes and a cheesy grin; instead of his mournful despair. She wished his last memory of her would be a sultry smile and provocative nuances rather than spat out words dripping with loathing and hate.

She wished that she could have had five more minutes to listen to one of Ducky's long-winded stories, or watch Palmer insert his size ten feet into his mouth. She wished she could experience another of Abby's bone-crushing hugs, or hear McGee's groans of frustration echoed by Tony's wicked laugher as he realizes that his ear is yet again glued to his handset. She wished that just once more she would feel the pressure of an infamous Gibbs' slap. And know that she belonged somewhere. But wishes are for dreamers, and dreamers are those who have a future, and she already knew she didn't have one of those.

* * *

Gibbs sighed, heavily.

_"One short boss?"_

He couldn't look over at Tony, the question in his voice, that kicked puppy look, when he realized that Ziva wasn't coming back with them. How could he tell his special agent that he had effectively allowed one of his team to embark on a suicide mission? He still wasn't a hundred percent certain he could trust Vance, particularly as he was sure that he had allied himself with Director Mossad. And, if what he read in Ziva's eyes was true, she needed them all to believe that she had become a cold, heartless vindictive bitch.

He needed to check those emails found on Rivkin's computer, the ones sent to Ziva. Perhaps he would be able to piece together a little more of this highly convoluted puzzle.

Returning to the office – seeing how despondent his team was – just made it worse. It was the second time that he had lost an agent, a good agent, and he didn't know if the team could survive a third. At least, when Kate died there was closure. With Ziva gone, there was just a gaping hole, speculation, hurt and too many unanswered questions.

He had gone into Vance's office, saying that he wanted to keep her position open, at least for a few months, just in case she changed her mind – but rather, he wanted to keep the channel open in case he needed save her. It would be a lot less paperwork to extract a bona fide member of the team from her homeland, than to try and smuggle a fully-fledged Mossad officer into the country.

Then Vance dropped the bombshell – he knew that Ziva had killed Ari and not him as the report specified. Director Eli David knew who the true killer of his son was, and had purposively ordered the hit. Gibbs was just a pawn, played in his own game…. Or so they wanted him to think.

Walking down to his broken, disconnected team – he couldn't help but look over at her empty desk. He wouldn't believe it, not until he heard it from Ziva's own lips. His infamous gut told him to keep believing in his agent, and he would do that, until she proved him otherwise…. And she would have to be alive to do that. He just hoped that where ever she was, it wasn't too late.

**To be continued… (only if you want it too – so, yes.. this is me unashamedly requesting reviews to let me know whether you want to read on or not…) **

­


	3. Chapter 3 Edge of Reason

Disclaimer: same as previous

A/N: Thanks for the reviews and comments everyone. You asked me to continue, so I hope this delivers... x K

**Chapter three: ****Edge of reason**

She didn't know where she was – somewhere halfway to hell – she surmised, if the sticky heat she felt between her shoulder blades was anything to go by. Spending five cramped days on this trawler (for want of a better word) with a bunch of sweaty soldiers, was not her idea of fun.

She looked over to the old photograph she had stuck on the wall – a picture of childhood innocence. Although, she wish she had torn the innocent one out of the trio – her sister Tali – she was unsullied, pure. She did not deserve to be part of this.

Anyone looking at the picture would think it was there for sentimental reasons – for memories – but it served more as a reminder, of who she was, of who she had become, of who she wanted to be.

Ziva shivered, despite the heat. There was that feeling again, that not so good feeling. Gibbs would describe it as her gut – and he was probably right. She shook it off. Her mind couldn't go there.

She had to stay focused on her mission ahead. It seemed simple enough. Well, as simple as it would be for an Israeli woman to infiltrate a Hamas training camp. But, orders were orders, and if there was one thing Ziva David knew, was how to follow orders…

* * *

Tony sat, staring at his mobile phone. It had been a two weeks, 14 days, 336 hours, 20 160 minutes, 120 9600 seconds, since they had left Israeli soil, since they had last seen Ziva, not that he was counting of course…

He had tried phoning her, but all he got was her voice mail. And after a while, he phoned just to hear the sound of her voice, least he forgets. Now, two weeks, 14 days, 336 hours, 20 160 minutes, 120 9600 seconds later, the reply was, in the perfectly pitched voice, "the subscriber you have dialed is unavailable."

Grunting, he threw the mobile phone across the room, and it bounced off the partition behind _her_ desk.

He stood, moved round his own desk, meaning to pick up the shards of his phone, but instead hovered, uncertain in _her _space. He could still feel her there, could almost smell her scent in the air.

Pulling her chair back, he sat heavily. Looking down, he saw her drawers, and, without hesitation, he pulled them open, one by one – trying to find some reason, some explanation. Because he sure as hell didn't understand.

It was in the bottom drawer, hidden in the back, that he found his answer. A container, the size of a shoe box. He pulled it out carefully, and placed it on his knees. Part of him felt that he was violating her, her trust. But, only a part of him, the part he managed to push away, to justify.

He opened the lid, amazed at what he found. The ninja had a sentimental side after all. He found her mementoes, her treasures. The orange hat given to her by a dying man; a ticket from a heavy metal concert Abby dragged her to after hearing she had never been to a live concert (he smiled, remembering that they had to yell at her for three days afterwards, her hearing completely impaired); a label off the bottle of wine he and she had shared her last birthday; a coaster from the gang's favorite watering hole; a group photo of the entire team, including Ducky and Jimmy; a candid shot of McGee and Abby at last year's Halloween party – dressed as Robin Hood and Maid Marion of all people; A well-thumbed photo of the two of them, captured by McGee at a crime scene – her glaring at him, while he had his head back, in throws of laughter; and perhaps the most telling of all, a brown envelope containing what looked to be surveillance photographs.

He recognized them as being from when Gibbs went on his self-motivated hiatus to Mexico a few years back, photographs of himself and Ziva outside her apartment taken at different times: one had the both of them standing on her doorstep, looking at each other, one with a date and time stamp, showing him leaving her home at 2am in the morning, and one, her turned towards him laughter in her eyes, her hand in his, as she led him into her home.

This was not the box of a woman who would walk away without a backwards glance. He pushed her chair back, forcefully - the sound of it smacking the divider.

"McGee," he called. Tim looked up, surprised. Tony never called him McGee, had never called him McGee – "Probie", "McGeek" , "McGoo" and various other nicknames – yes… but never by his real name.

He looked Tony over, the bloodshot eyes, tussled hair and at least a week's worth of growth spouting on his face. This was not the dapper, debonair Tony that he had grown to know and… tolerate.

"Have you," Tony swallowed, forcefully. "Have you heard from Ziva?"

Abby looked up from her position on the floor, between McGee and Tony's desks. The position she had been in for pretty much a week, when she wasn't needed in the lab. She stopped shredding the tissue in her hand, confetti evidence scattered around her revealed that this was not first victim of her hand. She looked from McGee to Tony and back again.

"Ermm, no, no I haven't" McGee replied. Abby shook her head vehemently as well.

"Give her time," Gibbs said, the voice of reason, as he entered the bullpen.

But Tony refused to back down. "I didn't expect her to call me, to respond to my emails, my phone calls, because she didn't contact me the entire time I was Agent Afloat, and well, we were on good terms then… but you guys, you were in contact with her during those four months, weren't you?"

McGee and Abby both slowly nodded. "She mailed me once every two weeks," McGee shared. "I got two or three text messages from her a week," Abby added.

They all looked at Gibbs expectantly. Sighing, he nodded. "She phoned me, once a week, until she went undercover in Morocco."

"Exactly," exclaimed Tony, slamming his fist on the desk, cringing as he jarred his injured shoulder. "Don't you think it's strange, that she didn't say goodbye to either of you, and yet she hasn't been in contact?" He looked over to Abby and McGee for confirmation.

Turning to back to Gibbs: "Something is not right here."

Tony picked up Ziva's memories, his eyes shining. "This person would not walk away without saying goodbye. This person cared. This person… this person…."

Breaking down he collapsed into her chair again, his shoulders heaving. "What am I going to do Gibbs, what am I going to do?"

Gibbs walked over to where Tony was sitting. He glanced down at the desk, picking up the photographs, shifting through them. He had always wondered about his two agents. Oh, the FBI guys were certain that what they had going on during that one undercover op was more than just pretending to fool the cameras. But he never asked, and they never revealed.

They had always been easy, comfortable, familiar in each other's space. Okay for Tony who had never respected personal boundaries of any sort to start with – but for the prickly Mossad officer?

He knew things changed when he came back from Mexico, Tony found himself a girlfriend (although none of them at the time realised she was part of another undercover op), Jen died, the team was split for four months – but even so, even with all of this going on, they had always been in each other's space.

Sometimes it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began, when they stood next to each other.

But it wasn't uncomfortable, tension-ridden – they just liked each other's space.

Until Rivkin was shot. Until they climbed on that damn plane. And by the time they landed in Israel, the distance was a lot further than just him standing between them.

He looked down at Tony staring up at him, desperately wanting him to give some sort of fatherly advice, some solace in this whole mess. All he could do was say: "You gonna be a man. You are gonna be strong. You are gonna get through this."

There was something playing on the edge of his conscious, something important, but he couldn't quite catch onto it.

"I need another cup of coffee," he said gruffly. "And then we are going to go through every shred of information we have, and try and figure this all out."

He roughly patted Tony on his back. "We will figure it out." He repeated, before disappearing into the elevator.

* * *

Vance paced his office. Something was going on and he didn't like it one bit. There was no point in giving his crack team any cases, they way they were moping about. They would probably shoot first and then ask questions later – and that included mild-mannered Abby Scuito… He felt like he was running a kindergarten – all the tears and drama.

But, he had to concede, they had a point. Something was not right, not right at all.

He thought back over the conversations he had the last few weeks. He looked at the Intel spread over his desk, and then stopped in his tracks.

That was it, he realized, sitting heavily in his chair.

He played back a conversation he had with his old friend Eli, a conversation that at the time meant nothing.

Eli and himself, sitting in the director's office in Israel, discussing the terrorist cell operating in North Africa.

He remembered asking Eli what was so important about this, why he was so adamant regarding this mission above all. His answer at the time seemed so simple. It was an act of revenge. "He killed one of my men," was his reply.

Suddenly all the pieces of the puzzle clicked into place. He flicked through the Intel again, and found what he was looking for. What had he done, what had he done? He questioned himself.

Jumping up, he opened his office door. "Cynthia – Find Gibbs and DiNozzo – it's urgent!" he yelled.

He just hoped he wasn't too late.

* * *

Gibbs returned with his coffee and ordered them all to Abby's lab. The pieces of the puzzle were beginning to fall into place, and he didn't like the picture that was forming.

"Abs," asked Tony slowly. "Did you ever run that trace on Ziva's cell like I asked you?"

Abby nodded vigorously, her pigtails flapping. "I did. But then because I was sad, so very sad, I think that maybe I did it wrong, because the signal was all hinky. It didn't make sense. So I left it, meaning to go back and try again. But I was too sad." She said, tears welling up in her eyes again.

"What do you mean hinky? Where did the signal take you?" Gibbs asked, quietly, gently.

"Well, that's just the thing. It was there, in Israel one minute, and the next, it had bounced somewhere just off the coast of Africa. But how could that be – it would place her in the middle of the sea. So I just thought that I had miscalculated, that the trace was faulty…" she trailed off, seeing Gibb's face drain of color.

He remembered a conversation he had with the SecNav in his basement, a month previously.

"I think I know where she is," he uttered, just as Vance entered the lab.

* * *

Ziva was tied to a chair. She couldn't entirely remember how she got here. Didn't know much of anything except that her head was pounding and her face felt like it was on fire. She tried to lick her broken lips, tried to ascertain her surroundings out of her one good eye, the other swollen shut. The dry blood caked down the side of her face cracked, started oozing again, as she moved.

She remembered them docking, walking off the ship with the other men, looking for her transport, and then all went dark. She knew that she hadn't made it as far as the training camp, as she was still dressed in her combat gear. But at least she was still dressed.

The man standing over her now was different to the one that had been in previously. He smirked at her, as he leaned over, his putrid breath tearing at her skin. He slipped his fingers under her chain and yanked it off. That didn't surprise her.

What did surprise her was him gently tucking her Star of David into his pant's pocket. A man of Hamas would have naturally thrown the offending item to the floor, grinding the delicate chain until it was unrecognizable.

Her train of thought was stopped, violently, as he wrenched her head back, clutching a fistful of hair. "Now," he said. "Tell me everything you know about NCIS."

Her throaty laughter bounced off the walls, as insulting to him as if she had spat in his face.

This was a feisty one, just as he had been warned. And he was willing to put in the time it would take to break her.

Pulling his fist back he rammed it into her ribs. She heard the cracking sound, before she felt the searing pain.

The last thing she remembered before losing consciousness was the glint of gold around his neck, the edge of the familiar pointed symbol and in that spilt second, in that moment, she realized that she indeed was in hell.


	4. Chapter 4 Smoke and Mirrors

**Disclaimer – same as before…**

A/N: warning: it's angsty….

**Chapter four – Smoke and mirrors**

Vance stood in the middle of the lab – looking at Gibbs' team, including Ducky and Palmer.

"Good. You are all here," he said, looking at each of them in turn, his usual no-nonsense expression firmly on his face. He knew they didn't trust him. Not that he had given them any reason too. But still – this bunch were dedicated followers of Gibbs, and only when he could convince Gibbs that he was actually looking out for them, would the others cut him some slack.

"I think we may have a problem," he added quietly, pulling himself up to his full height, which still meant that he was looking up to both Gibbs and DiNozzo. Again, not necessarily the place he wanted to be, but least he had their attention – for now.

He opened his mouth to continue, the others looking at him expectantly. And then all hell broke loose as mobile phones started to ring – a cacophony of sound.

First his own, followed by Gibbs, Ducky's and even Tony's.

Gibbs was the quickest to draw. Flipping open the phone and putting it to his ear, he listened to the voice on the other side. Blood draining from his face, he turned his back to the others, moving away.

Vance and Ducky were just about to answer their phones, but seeing Gibbs and his expression, stopped, clutching their handsets halfway to their ears.

Tony didn't even attempt to pull his from his pocket.

"What? Are you sure? You are positive? No. Don't move anything. Just… just cover her from prying eyes, please. We are on our way."

Snapping his phone shut, Gibbs tried to compose himself before turning back to face his waiting team. His blue eyes, normally so hard, so stoic, were glistening with unshed tears.

"Just. Tell. Us." Tony said, closing his own eyes slowly and then opening them again.

Sighing heavily, Gibbs uttered the words he hoped he would never have to say: "A body of a woman has just been found at the entrance to the naval yard. She's badly beaten up, so it's hard to say… but security did notice the NCIS badge placed on her chest, identifying her as…" he paused, taking a deep breathe, the tears beginning to slip onto his cheeks, "…Ziva David."

Abby's horrified wail echoed off the walls of the lab, a strangled sound that escaped her lips unbidden, as McGee quickly pulled her towards him, trying to muffle her cries against his chest. His own eyes welling up in response, he clutched her tightly, as much for himself as for her.

"No, no. It's not her. It can't be her," Tony stood in disbelief, shaking his head.

Vance was the first to recover, calmly stating that he would dispatch a team immediately, pulling out his phone again.

"No." bellowed Gibbs. He continued, in a lower pitch: "We need to go to her, get her and bring her in here. We need to do this for her."

He looked at each of them one by one, getting their confirmation before turning to the director. "Vance. This case is ours. She is ours, and I am sure the others agree. We don't want another unit to touch her."

* * *

Five minutes later, their worst suspicions had been confirmed. The woman's face had been beaten to a bloody pulp, her features mangled beyond recognition, but the curly hair was undeniable, and the Star of David around her neck, unmistakable.

"She's wearing same outfit, boss," Tony whispered, swallowing back the tears, as he knelt by her lifeless body. "It's… It's what she was wearing the day we left her in Israel."

He gently pushed the matted curls from her face, leaning over and kissing the mottled, bruised skin, tears now falling unashamedly, dripping onto her face.

"I'm sorry Zi. I let you down. I thought I could protect you. But I didn't. I just got you killed." He breathed the words against her skin.

The investigator in him was gone. Not caring that he could potentially be destroying evidence, he gathered her broken body to his chest, rocking her, comforting her in death, the way no one ever did while she was alive.

"You were supposed to come back to me. You were supposed to come back to me. But not like this, not like this," he keened, repeating his mantra of pain.

The onlookers who had gathered turned away. Not for lack of curiosity, but realizing that this was more than just another case, another grisly puzzle for solving. This was one of their own. And one of their own deserved respect, dignity and honor, especially in death.

Gibbs had kept back, allowing Tony to shed his grief, but now, he needed to step in. Firstly for Ziva, secondly for his senior agent. This one was going to be hard on all of them.

"Tim, take him to Abby. Stay there with him." He said quietly, pulling the broken man up from his knees, his own voice thick with grief. Tony tried to refuse, but Gibbs gently pushed him away in the direction of the NCIS building. "Take him," he said again, as McGee supported Tony, leading him away.

Ducky held out his hand, clasping Tony's elbow as they moved passed him, Tony stumbling over each step. "I'll take care of her, my boy. Don't you worry about that," he comforted, chocking out the words.

Behind him, Jimmy sniffled loudly, as he gently eased her into the body bag. Folding her arms over her chest and brushing her hair back from her face as he pulled the zip closed, softly touching her in a way that he would never dare do while she was alive, fearful for his body parts that he had grown rather fond of. He sniffled again, his glasses misting up, wiping his nose with the back of his sleeve. He would give anything for that ass-kicking.

* * *

A few hours later, Ducky had the preliminary autopsy report. She had been tortured, beaten. Her facial bones, ribs, arms and legs had all been broken, some in several places. Finger printing was impossible - the pads of her fingers obliterated with what looked to be repeated cigarette burns. Dental records for similar reasons were also out of the question.

"She suffered, Jethro. There is no doubt about that. Whoever did this was out for revenge." Ducky shared, his hands unsteady as he passed the report over to Gibbs.

"This one was the hardest for me," he said quietly, taking his glasses off and wiping his eyes with his handkerchief.

"Worse than Kate and Director Shepherd. Perhaps because I could get them looking like they did in life. They were peaceful, beautiful in their final sleep. But, I can do nothing for her. These people are monsters, Jethro. They need to pay," the small man added uncharacteristically, almost spitting his disgust.

The doors to autopsy slid open, revealing Tony, who walked right passed them, over to where Ziva's body lay.

Gibbs and Ducky moved away, respectfully giving him a little privacy, as Abby and McGee entered.

Gibbs opened his arms, enfolding Abby into his protective embrace, kissing the top of her bent head gently as she wept into his shoulder.

The haunted sound behind them made them turn, as Tony collapsed to his knees, his weeping washing over them, drenching them in his pain.

As a collective, they moved forward, surrounding him, trying to share his burden of grief.

He looked up, eyes shining. His were not tears of sadness, as they first assumed… but rather, an expression of…relief?

"It's not her," he whispered. "It's not her."

They looked at each other helplessly, not knowing what to say or do to ease what was so unmistakably blatant. Ducky stepped forward: "I'm sorry to be the barer of bad news, young Anthony. And this pains me gravely, but, I am convinced it's Ziva. I don't have samples of her DNA, but it's most definitely her blood type."

He took another deep breath: "Whether we like it or not, the evidence all points to it being her."

Tony pulled himself up from the floor, his gaze still on the body on the autopsy table.

"Ducky, you examined her thoroughly. Has this body had any laser work done?"

Ducky looked confused. The Ziva he knew wasn't one to worry about cosmetic issues such as laser surgery. "No. No, nothing," he replied cautiously.

"And you examined her, from head to toe?"

Ducky didn't know where Tony was going with this, but thought he would humor the poor man. "Yes, thoroughly."

Tony smiled. His first real smile in two weeks. "Then Ducky, old chap, I can tell you with 100 percent certainty that this is not Ziva David."

Gibbs sighed, holding a hand up to Ducky, who was about to interject: "Why do you say that Tony?"

Tony grinned again. He knew that when they did find Ziva, she would kill him for his next words: "Ziva has a discreet tattoo on her left upper inner thigh - a phoenix. She had it done about a year ago. This woman…" he laid his hand gently on her arm. "...who ever she is, doesn't have a tattoo. This is not Ziva."

"Then someone is going to great lengths for us to believe she is," Vance said, walking into autopsy. "And I for one intend to find out why."


	5. Chapter 5 Holding on, Holding strong

Disclaimer: Still don't own NCIS, the characters or the plot lines, however, I do own the tangent my imagination is sending me on…. Oh, and the evil characters created in this chapter…

**Chapter five – Holding on, holding strong**

Up was down, day was night, right was wrong. She had no idea how long she had been in this cramped space, this version of hell, but she guessed it must be at least three days, if not more. Days that were spent in this room, with little more than herself and the almost continuous questioning.

Although, the term "questioning" was a tenuous one at best. Aggressive questioning with intent was more accurate. Torturing was so passé.

For now, she was alone again. She allowed herself a small broken smile that pulled at her split lip and damaged face, making the blood that had congealed, crack and ooze, trickling down her now unrecognizable face. She flicked her tongue out, tasting the blood, proof that she was more alive than dead, and relished the thought. Ironic really, the very skills which kept her alive all these years were the same skills being used for her demise.

* * *

Watching her on the camera, the leader Elijah shook his head. This was a strangely disturbing situation. She was more resilient than he had originally given her credit for, but, he didn't think she could hold out much longer. Stronger, more skilled men than her had crumbled for lot less. Oh, she had given them some Intel, unwittingly of course. Intel that had been pried, dragged, beaten and bleed out of her. But there were a few more things he needed for the master plan to work.

She surprised him. And he could almost say that he admired, even respected her, although he wouldn't admit those words out loud. He had tried and allowed almost every tactic he knew… and she tolerated them.

But he drew the line at sexual torture. Firstly, they knew her background. She had been trained to use sex as a weapon if necessary, a tool to get information. Secondly, they believed she had been intimate with the American agent, and that in itself made her one of the untouchables. Who wanted to go where the American had been?

Thirdly, perhaps most importantly, no matter what she had done, how she had betrayed them or what information they needed from her, she was still the director's daughter – his one remaining child.

Torture to the brink of death was one thing – justified even. Sexual degradation? That was another.

If he were totally honest with himself, she was a wild cat and he found himself strangely attracted to her. He wanted her in crisp cream sheets, writhing in ecstasy, screaming his name against his shoulder, with desire in her eyes, not fear and loathing.

He shook his head to rid the thoughts, and shifted in his chair, rocking back and crossing his booted feet on the table. On the screen, Jacob entered the room, ready for another round of… persuasion.

He watched as she lifted her head to Jacob who stood to the side of her, her eyes still full of fire, ready and waiting. She glanced across to where the camera was hidden, and Elijah could swear she gave an almost imperceptible nod, an acknowledgement that she knew he was there, watching.

Their orders were brutal, callous, but consistent. Take her to the brink of death, but don't kill her. She was needed alive and conscious to witness the final outcome of the master plan. And once the other targets had been eliminated, one by one in front of her eyes, only then would she be released from this hell she found herself in, and would be allowed to find solace in death.

The director, the one that issued the orders, had toiled with the idea of keeping her alive, Elijah knew. This was not out of pity, but rather, so that she would have many more years to relive these moments, the nightmare that had become her life, and the nightmare than would follow.

But he counteracted this order, justifying it by saying that he wasn't that callous, and perhaps, she would have suffered enough by the end and he would allow the freedom that death would bring.

As Elijah watched Jacob at work, heard her stifled screams, the words that she spat out of her mouth and the fire that still slowly burned in her eyes, he knew that the mandate of death wasn't for her, it was for all of them. Because if she ever got free, she would spend the remainder of her life tracking them down and killing them, painfully, coldly, mercilessly, one by one. Revenge is a dish best served cold….

* * *

Ziva didn't know at what point of the last session she blacked out, but when she consciousness, Elijah was the one standing over her. He untied her hands and feet, and placing his hand under her armpit, hoisted her up roughly.

"Time to get cleaned up, you stink," he gloated. Opening the door, he pushed her into the small cubicle, containing just a sink, basic shower, and toilet. A rough hand towel was sitting next to the basin, along with a tube of ointment.

Nothing in the room could be used for any means of escape – be it physically or through death. She was used to this routine. Locking the door, she gingerly climbed into the shower, and washed away the pain and degradation of the day. She knew that now she would be given some food, and allowed a few hours of sleep, just enough sustain her for the next few hours of… questioning.

She tiredly leaned her head against the cool, rough wall, the hot water sluicing off her back, into her open wounds and over the mottling bruising. She had to brace herself, to keep from falling, the pain getting to her more now that when it had been inflicted.

She cautiously toweled herself off, rubbing the brown, foul smelling ointment onto her wounds, before dressing in the clean pants and shirt left for her, the rough material chaffing her wounds. She opened the door and was lead back to her cell, pushed onto the pallet that lay waiting. She rolled onto her side, and closed her eyes, as the door was bolted shut behind her. She knew she wouldn't sleep, even as she stilled her breath.

The exhausting was overwhelming, and she needed to make sure that she was alert, ready for what they were planning next. Whatever it was, she knew that the next few days were going to be even harder than the ones preceding.

Again, she smiled softly to herself, wincing at the pain. They thought they had broken her, as the information they wanted spilled from her mouth like vomit. But, they were wrong. She was in control here. She realized that they already knew certain things about NCIS and the people she had grown close to. She realized that they were looking for Intel to gain access, to use against the team, and so she fed them what she wanted them to know. Pretty much what they already knew, but with a few "unguarded" gems of info, some of which were accurate and true, and some of which would be enough to alert her team members, hopefully in time to save themselves. It would be her last gift to the people who had opened her up to so much.

One thing Ziva David didn't fear was death itself – hell, she had been expecting it, relishing it, and welcoming it for as long as she could remember.

But she did have her own unique set of fears. She feared emotional attachment, she feared love, to want and be wanted by another. For she had always been taught that these are actions of a weak-willed person. She feared the closeness, the uniqueness of the relationship she had with each and every member of her NCIS team. She feared the way they made her feel, and most of all, she feared that she would die before they knew what she had done, that she hadn't betrayed them like they thought.

Her father asked her, what seemed a lifetime ago, as she stood, leaning over his desk, who was she loyal to - Mossad or NCIS? The honest truth was that she had chosen NCIS the moment she put a bullet into her half-brother, saving the life of a man she hardly knew.

But that man, that stranger, had taught her more, and had given her more trust, more loyalty and more understanding than her own father.

She always knew that if it came down to it, she would give her life for the NCIS family – and perhaps now that time had come….


	6. Chapter 6 Solace in the Darkness

**Disclaimer: Same as before**…

**Chapter Six: Solace in the darkness**

Director Leon Vance needed a drink – desperately. In all his years of service, the covert operations, the lies and the deception, this moment ranked as the lowest point. He thought that he was calculating. He thought that he would do anything, would say anything, and justify anything, if the situation called for it, if he believed the greater cause. After all, orders are orders.

But your own daughter? Your own flesh and blood? You have to be some special kind of evil for that…

He had been holed up in MTAC for the last three hours. As director of NCIS and Eli David's supposed friend, it had fallen to him to tell the man that his daughter was dead, that her brutalized body had been found, that she would be returning to Israel in a body bag.

Eli David took the news calmly. Said that Ziva had disappeared in the late afternoon the day they had left Israel after declaring she needed a walk. He hadn't contacted them to let them know, as he had received a ransom note, and believed she was still in Israel, making it his and not NCIS business. This entire monologue was said with little to no emotion, except for a slight flicker of amusement that touched the Mossad director's eyes briefly, before the mask slipped back into place.

Vance's blood ran cold, and he realized in that moment that his greatest concern was, in fact, stone cold reality.

"Am I correct in assuming that Special Agents' Gibbs and DiNozzo will be returning to Israel as well, accompanying the body?" David questioned, drawing Vance back into the conversation.

Vance surprised him by saying that in fact; Ziva's full team would be coming.

"Your daughter," he choked on the words, as bile rose up into his throat. "Your daughter was well respected and loved. Gibbs requested that DiNozzo, McGee, Scuito, Mallard and Palmer all be present at the funeral, a request that I have agreed to," Vance added.

David nodded slowly. "Very well, my friend. We will make the arrangements from my side and will expect you on tomorrow's flight."

After David signed off, Vance connected with his operatives in Africa. Again the information he discovered troubled him. Was there no end to this?

Leaving MTAC, he glanced at his watch, astounded to see that it was after 11pm. He looked down into the pit, not surprised to see that it was empty, the solitary light on Gibbs' desk casting shadows. He already knew where they would be.

* * *

Abby was sitting on the bottom stair, hugging her knees to her chest as she watched Gibbs and DiNozzo battle to connect the final strut of the skeleton framework. They worked in silence, each man just knowing instinctively what the other needed. But, come to think of it, they had been laboring on the new boat for close on two weeks now.

The last one, the one imprinted with Ziva's tears, frustration and memory had been skillfully extracted from the basement (Ducky and Tony still hadn't figured that one out!), and was quietly waiting in a safe place. Gibbs hadn't decided as yet whether he would attempt to sail it, or burn it…

The first night Tony pitched up at Gibbs' house, uninvited, was the night they returned from Israel. He stood uncertain, faltering, holding a bottle of bourbon in his hands, not knowing if he was welcome, but not wanting to be alone either. If this had been any other day, he would have been standing on Ziva's doorstep, vodka and a hot pizza box in his hands. But, she was gone. And Tony didn't know where else he wanted to be.

Gibbs simply held out the hammer to him, and allowed him to take out his frustration and hurt on the wood. The simple, uncomplaining, unwavering wood, which had slowly been transformed to the structure they were currently working on.

Tony had returned each night, collapsing onto Gibb's couch when exhaustion finally overwhelmed him, the darkness swallowing him, spitting him out the next morning as he woke to his continuing nightmare.

They looked up to the light knock on the door, surprised to see Vance standing there. "Miss Scuito, please can you inform McGee, Ducky and Palmer that they will be travelling with us to Israel in the morning. We will meet you at the landing strip at 5am." He said formally, dismissing her.

She stood awkwardly, smoothing her short skirt with her hands. "Wow. I mean, I always wanted to go to Israel. Although not like this, never like this. But she isn't really dead is she? We are just pretending that she is? And I can do that, because when I think of her, and the fact that she is gone and we don't know where she is, or if she is okay, then I get real sad. And it makes me want to cry, all over again. Just like when I thought she really was dead." Abby took a deep breath, breaking her flow of words, glancing quickly to Gibbs, waiting for his confirmation.

"It's all right Abs, you can go. We will see you in the morning. Go home and pack your bags," Gibbs responded gently.

Nodding she gave Tony a quick kiss on the cheek, before leaving the basement, her boots echoing as she tottered up the stairs and across the wooden floor overhead.

Waiting to hear the front door close behind her, Vance took the shot of bourbon Gibbs held out to him, downing it before gesturing to Tony and Gibbs. "You may want to sit for this," he said. "In fact, you had better, and pour us all another drink, we are going to need it," he added.

He shared with them what he knew, some of which Tony and Gibbs had pieced together themselves, much of which they hadn't.

Vance quietly and calmly revealed that even after the years of friendship, there was always something… distasteful about Eli David, and that the SecNav had requested he use his relationship to investigate further.

That he believed the director was potentially behind Ziva's disappearance and faked death, and that they would need to continue to pretend the body they would be accompanying to Israel was indeed Ziva's.

That he believed the real target in this mess were Gibbs, Tony and of course, Ziva herself – and that this all stemmed back to Ziva's half-brother Ari Haswari.

After all, it was never made clear why Ari had such a vendetta against Gibbs in the first place. The game of cat and mouse, had become more dangerous, more lives had become expendable, and anyone who didn't pledge allegiance to Eli David, was in his eyes, against him and therefore the enemy. The fact that his daughter was one such player, meant nothing to the man, it seemed.

That Vance believed the team would be safe on Israeli soil during the funeral preparations, as that would be too easily linked back to the director. But that they would all need to keep a watchful eye and would need to be four steps in front of their new enemy, instead of three behind.

He said that he knew they didn't trust him, Vance, and that they hadn't any reason to believe him. Until now.

Then, Vance dropped the humdinger. He was in charge of an undercover op in Africa, keeping an eye on what was unfolding there. If you think about it, what better way to hide a secret Mossad sleeper cell, than right under the nose of the Hamas terrorists? Nothing like hiding in plain view.

As far as his operatives could tell, one of which had infiltrated the sleeper cell, a woman, matching Ziva's description, had been holed up in one of the "interrogation rooms" for four days. The operative, a Captain Jansen, had been ordered to get her out three hours previously, even if it meant blowing his cover and the operation they had spent six months working on. But he discovered she was gone as were the three men who had been working her over. Jansen didn't know where they were headed, but believed that the second phase of Director's mission was in play.

Vance didn't go into detail regarding Jansen's description of what had happened in that room. How the experienced officer blanched as he described her cursing and cussing, the crunch of bones breaking, and her muffled screams, pools of her blood still drenching the floor. He didn't think his men needed to hear anymore, particularly as he took in Tony's already gray drawn face, his lips tightly pursed together.

But at least, the very least, they had confirmation she was still alive… They had to believe that much was true.

* * *

It was a little too familiar: the tarmac in the blistering heat, the coffin rolled out, the soldiers unfurling the flag over the casket, Vance, Gibbs and DiNozzo all standing watching.

The only difference between today and a few weeks previously, was that Ziva wasn't standing in the shadow of Gibbs' embrace, she was supposedly in the coffin, and Abby was the one leaning on Gibbs for support, flanked by McGee, Ducky and Palmer.

Tony could feel the sweat pool in the small of his back, he almost smiled, hearing Ziva's voice in his head: "What do you expect Tony, Israel only has one season."

But held himself back just in time.

Stepping forward, he took the hand being held out to him as the director clasped his elbow. "Agent DiNozzo, I expected you would return, but I had hoped under happier circumstances."

Tony swallowed the retort bubbling up in his throat. Biting the inside of his cheek, he responded: "As did I Director. I am… sorry for your loss."

Stepping aside, he allowed Vance to make the team's introductions.

He walked over, unbidden, to where the coffin was being loaded into the waiting official vehicle. Leaning forward, he rested his head on the sun-warmed surface. "I'm so sorry, so very sorry you have found yourself here," he whispered against the wood.

Looking up, he stared straight into Mossad Officer Amit Hadar's eyes.

"It's a sad day for us all. Drive with me?" He asked, almost echoing word for word their previous conversation, held in the same place a few weeks previoulsy, except that time it was Rivkin's body in the casket, and Tony knew for certain he was dead.

Tony nodded, turning to the others, saying he would meet them at the hotel. He didn't know what he saw in Hadar's eyes. But he seemed truly disturbed by the circumstances, as if he honestly believed that it was Ziva's body lying in that box.

* * *

The trip was completed in silence. Pulling into a parking just outside the hotel, Hadar turned to Tony. "Walk with me a bit?" he asked, already climbing out of the car, and walking away, without looking back, without waiting for Tony to follow.

Tony caught up to him, and they walked, the only sound their shoes crunching across the green grass of the park.

"She cared for you." Hadar said simply, quietly, without looking at Tony.

"Whaa-aat?" Tony asked, surprised at this admission.

"I have known Ziva for many, many years. Some may say even…intimately." With this he glanced over to Tony, to gauge his reaction, smiling gently as he noticed Tony bristling with implicit jealousy.

"It was a long time ago, Agent DiNozzo. Before she became Liaison Officer with NCIS."

Tony nodded, before spitting out, admitting: "Yes, maybe we had something, might have had something, but that was before Rivkin came back onto the scene."

"Perhaps. But Rivkin, was just a diversion for her. The way she spoke of you, the way she looked at you, even.." Hadar's voice broke slightly, sighing deeply he continued: "Even when you were here a few weeks ago, and she was so enraged with you. There was still something in her eyes I have never seen before, never thought I would see… She cared for you."

Tony faltered in his steps. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you are hurting and she is dead. And you need to know, so that you can stop blaming her, stop blaming yourself and start healing. You need to be strong to find her killers."

At this, Tony stopped dead, looking sharply at him. "What do you know about that?"

"Tony, may I call you Tony? Well, Tony, if Ziva was right about you, and I believe she was. Nothing will stop you from finding out who did this and repaying them. No matter who it is."

The two men exchanged a look, an understanding, before turning to walk back to the hotel, once again in silence, each lost in his own thoughts.


	7. Chapter 7 Eyes don't lie

**Disclaimer: same as before…**

A/N: To all of you who have taken the time to review, add this story to alerts or favourites – I thank you! It's people like you that encourage me to continue this story – I just hope I can live up to your expectations!!!

**Chapter seven: Eyes don't lie**

The funeral was beautiful, a fitting send-off for an officer of Mossad. The NCIS team stood respectively off to the side, following tradition. All were dressed in smart black suits, yarmulkes perched uncomfortably on the backs of their heads, Abby wearing a quirky long black dress, black stockings and high heeled Mary Janes. They were bunched together, uncomfortable, uncertain, overwhelmed.

They didn't have to fake the emotion that consumed them, each questioning where the real Ziva was, and if she was okay. Ducky awkwardly soothed Palmer, patting his back like a child as he stood, wide-eyed, confused next to Vance. Abby unable to hold back the tears streaming down her cheeks, dragging her mascara with it, her shoulders heaving as she tried to swallow her grief. Tim, standing next to her, simply wrapped his arm around her tighter. Tony, his jaw clenched, his muscles coiling and recoiling, as Gibbs laid a gentle hand on his back. To the casual observer, it looked like a fatherly figure soothing a broken man. But for those closest to them, it was obvious that he was attempting to restrain him, calm him, stop him from doing what they all wanted to do.

Tears of frustration burned in Tony's eyes, hatred for the man standing closest to the open grave, a shuttered expression on his face as the Rabbi droned on.

Protocol was broken just once. The director and Ziva's limited surviving family tossed soil onto the lowered coffin, Hadar was next in line. He gestured for Tony to step forward and do the same. Tony looked over at Gibbs who gently nodded. Taking the shovel from Hadar's outstretched hand; Tony slammed it into the soil. Three officers stepped forward, ready to strike, but Hadar lifted his hand to them, a quick determined shake of the head, gesturing for them to stop, step back.

The Director watched bemused, as the American moved towards the huge floral arrangement. Selecting a single perfect yellow rose he placed it gently, reverently, on the waiting headstone. Bending he touched his fingertips to his lips, and pressed them against the cold marble, tracing Ziva's name. "Till we meet again," he murmured before standing and once again joining his team, the soft dirt still clinging to the knees of his pants. This time, he placed himself outside of Ducky, so that he and Gibbs had the team sandwiched between them – two sentries standing guard.

* * *

As is custom, they were invited to the Director's home after the funeral. Tony stood staring out of the huge bay window, a cup of tea cooling in his hand. He could feel a set of eyes boring into his back, a similar feeling that he would get with Ziva sometimes, similar, but not quite. Turning slightly, he noticed the tiny lady dressed head to toe in black, leaning against the opposite wall, her head tilted at an angle, again reminiscent of Ziva.

He walked towards her, slowly, steadily, the slightest smile dancing at the corner of his mouth.

"Aunt Nettie," I presume, he said, bowing deeply.

"Anthony DiNozzo, not still threatening to kill and maim me are you?" she asked, her watery brown eyes crinkling with amusement. "Although," she added conspiratorially, winking at him "I must thank you for the advice. I tried the same trick and it did work."

This time, he allowed the smile to reach his eyes. "Ha-Makom yenahem etkhem b'tokh sha ar aveilei Tzion vYerushalayim"

"Ah, the ancient consolation, roughly translated as: may the Omnipresent comfort you among all the mourners of Zion and Jerusalem. I am touched and impressed, young Anthony. And Ziva will be to," the old lady responded lightly.

He looked at her questioningly, wondering if it was a David family thing, this ability to mangle the English language. She stared back at him. Clearly another trait the David women shared, this ability to look deep into your soul. He finally blinked, turning his head away. "You do not think she is dead," she said quietly, not a question, but merely a statement.

He lifted his head again, green meeting brown. She placed her hands on his face, pulling it down towards her, whispering in his ear: "I can see it in your eyes, young man. They do not lie." She kissed him first on the one cheek, and then the other, then lifted her hand and slapped his cheek gently. His green eyes glistened with unshed tears, her mannerisms, her tone, she was so much like Ziva, what he could picture Ziva being, when she was eighty-odd. He mentally shook his head. Aunt Nettie continued, "That is for letting yourself go. Look at you, your hair needs a cut, your tie is skew, your shirt untucked… and when did you last shave? Ziva would not like to see you this way, she would kick your ass and you know it.

He smiled at her again, this time; he was the one that leaned forward, kissing her leathery cheek as he murmured: "Thank you."

She looked at him again, long and hard, before replying: "You will do the right thing. You will make it right. But you need to get yourself right first. You are no good to her this way… now if you will excuse me; I have some of my own ass-kicking to get to."

He leaned against the wall, watching her as she stalked off, to give some young flunky a good taking to regarding the fact that the tea was getting cold and there wasn't any hot water available for the guests to top up. He still had the gentle smile on his face when a soft, slightly breathy voice said behind him: "So, Ziva was right, you do have a way with the ladies. Although I didn't think I would ever see the day that Aunt Nettie would crumble like that."

He turned, looking straight into the blue eyes of a tall, ravishing-looking red-head with skin so pale it was almost translucent. "And you are?" he asked coolly, the smile that had been hovering, dropping completely off his face, his features hard.

"Rachel. Rachel Avraham," she answered. "Ziva's friend from school? We lost contact when our…lifestyles diverged somewhat, but we recently reconnected." She laughed, a tinkling very girlie sound and Tony could almost imagine Ziva rolling her eyes at this, and the shifting pieces slipped into place for him.

Tony didn't even blink. "Oh yes, Rachel of course. And how was Paris?" he asked, desperately hoping that he was on the right track.

"Beautiful, hectic, crazy, dangerous – the usual" she responded lightly. "Although I am impressed you remembered."

He couldn't help but give her the once over, looking as if he were mentally undressing her with his eyes, when in reality he was taking in every detail. It was strange, there was something so familiar about her, but he couldn't quite put a finger on it. All he knew was that she could potentially be the key, and he was happy to go along for the ride, if it meant a step closer to finding out the truth.

She returned the appraisal. "Like what you see?" she asked, again in that whispery voice of hers.

"I was just trying to figure out how a red-headed, pale skinned ethereal beauty such as yourself became a Mossad Officer. No offence, but you do kind of stand out," he responded, once again leaning against the wall, shifting his weight slightly.

She laughed again. That sound was going to get old, fast, Tony thought.

"Yes, well, here I stand out, but most other countries, I fit right in. The perfect guise for an undercover operative, don't you think? But, to answer your question, I was adopted by my parents when I was just a few days old. I had been abandoned by my English biologicals. They say my mother was a fallen teenager, not much is known about my father." She shook her head sadly. "But as they say, the rest is history and if I hadn't been adopted, then I wouldn't be where I am today." Leaning in towards Tony, she trailed her long fingernail down his chest. "And I really like where I am."

He cleared his throat; ready to mention that perhaps it was inappropriate for her to be, well, be doing whatever it was she was doing, when a flurry of black fury exploded into the narrowing space between them. "Tony," said Abby crossly, accusatorily. "You haven't introduced me to your new friend. And really, should you be making new friends at the moment? I mean what with where we are, and what we are doing here." She dropped her voice to a stage whisper and was just about to launch into another tirade when McGee rushed up out of breath. "Sorry Tony, I turned my back on her just a second and…"

"This is Rachel, Ziva's friend." Tony interrupted. "She was just about to regale with stories of what our favourite ninja was like as a teenager."

* * *

Across the room Gibbs sipped the insipid drink, unconsciously making a face. Director David sidled up to him, a mug in his hand. "I can see you do not like our tea, so I thought you would prefer this instead," handing over the steaming drink. "White with sugar, right? Ziva mentioned this is the way you like it."

Gibbs looked at the drink and then at Eli David, "Thank you, most kind." He said, nodding, accepting the milky drink as his mind mulling over the information he had just received, his eyes drifting across the room and falling on his agents, who had now been joined by Ducky and Palmer. The tall red-head was telling them a story, which seemed to have them in fits of laughter, and even Tony, poor broken Tony, had a smile on his face.

Director David's eyes followed. "I see your team has meet Rachel." He noted.

"Who? The red-head?" Gibbs responded, as Vance joined them.

"Rachel will be returning to Washington with you, she will be fulfilling the role of liaison officer with NCIS." Two pairs of eyes, one brown, one blue, swivelled round to face him. "Ziva may no longer be here, but the role has served us well and I feel that we should continue it," he added nonchalantly as Gibbs looked over to the rest of the team. They were not going to like this, he thought to himself.

* * *

Across town, the object of their thoughts and conversation was in yet another "interrogation" room. Different country, same technique. Elijah grabbed a handful of hair, pulling her head back, forcing her to watch what was happening on the screen.

"Just in case you thought that your precious NCIS would be coming to save you," he growled, gauging her reaction as she watched the team mourning at her graveside. The tears run unbidden, the saltiness slicing into her torn face, as she watched Tony kneel by her tombstone, tracing her name, the anguish on his face.

"Ahhh, so our Ziva has an Achilles heel after all, and I think we have just found it," Elijah added smugly, as he slammed his fist into her ribs again, the satisfying sound of bones breaking. And as she drifted off to the darkness, on the screen she saw Tony's lazy smile and heard the red-head's tinkling laugh.


	8. Chapter 8 Homecoming

**Disclaimer: same as before.**

A/N: Thank you for the reviews and for adding me to alerts, favorite stories and the such… It is very much appreciated. I hope you haven't given up on me or this story, but I was felled by a nasty dose of bronchitis that had me hallucinating and muttering incoherently. Not great for trying to string words together to formulate sentences! But I am back now, and ready to update more regularly. So, please, hang in and keep reading and reviewing…

* * *

**Chapter eight: Homecoming **

"Why didn't you tell me she was alive?" Officer Hadar's angry voice bounced off the walls of Director David's office as his hands slammed down on the desk. "I saw her body, I mourned her death."

The director, apoplectic with anger, his face alternating between red, purple and puce: "Last time I checked it was my name on the door and not yours. Mine is to issue orders, and yours is to follow them, without question or argument. And if you don't feel up to the job, we can neutralize your position here at Mossad. Are we quite clear?" he roared, spittle dripping down his chin.

His words had the desired affect, and Hadar, chastised, backed down.

"I…understand Director and I regret my outburst. It was the shock," he added, downcast, hands folded in front of him, submissive. But as he said the words, his brain was calculating, trying to make sense of the situation. He did not recognize this man who sat before him, smoothing his hair.

Yes, the director had always been arrogant, aggressive even when the situation called for it. Now, madness tinged his eyes.

"Where… um... where is she?" Hadar asked, hesitantly.

Director David looked at his aide coolly. "All you need to know is that she is being kept in a… secure location. She is imparting vital information that will be of benefit to the mission. Rachel is currently on route to Washington where she will formally take up the position of liaison officer with NCIS. You will be her control officer, and will be flying out tonight."

With this, the director put his head down and continued signing the reports on his desk. Looking briefly up, he added in a dismissive tone: "Anything else?"

Hadar shook his head and backed out the room. This was clearly more complicated than he originally thought.

* * *

The stairs creaked as Tony made his way down into the basement.

"Wondered if you were coming," Gibbs said from the work bench, without turning around. He tipped out a jam jar of nuts and bolts and poured a generous tot of bourbon. Reached out, placing the drink in Tony's waiting hand.

"Classy…" Tony muttered, "Crystal in the dishwasher?"

"Well, if you feel that way," Gibbs moved to take the jam jar back.

"Hey, no fair. I didn't say I didn't want it," Tony sulked.

They gulped their drinks. Without asking, Tony picked up the chisel and moved towards the hull, Gibbs following his lead. They worked in silence, crafting, bending, shaping the wood. Taking the flat planks and turning them into something beautiful.

"I don't think I am going to be coming around as much," Tony shared eventually, without looking up.

Gibbs just raised an eyebrow and continued to fasten the fixture he was working on.

"It's not that I don't want to come around. I mean, this," Tony swallowed hard, spreading his hands out. "This is what I needed. What I still need. But, as Abby would say, something hinky is going on here and I think it would be better for the team… for Ziva, if I kept my distance."

Gibbs grunted, put down his tools, and poured them both another drink, gesturing to Tony as he leaned against work bench. Tony nodded at the indication, sitting heavily on the bottom step usually favored by Abby. They both stared at the amber liquid in their hands. Tony lifted it to his lips, took a deep drink, letting the liquid burn down his throat, warming his chest and starting to crack and melt his frozen heart.

"Gibbs," he started hesitantly. "Did you notice anything… I don't know…strange about that trip? I mean other than the obvious. Other than the fact that we buried a body that wasn't Ziva's. And we have no idea where she is, or what this is all about… Oh, crap. I sound like Abby don't I?"

He was answered with a smirk, followed by a sigh of acknowledgement, understanding, acceptance: "Director David handed me a cup of coffee yesterday. It was white, with sugar," Gibbs shuddered. "The director insinuated that Ziva told him that was how I prefer it."

Tony nodded slowly. "One night a few months ago, the gang was out having drinks. Of course things went a bit pear-shaped like they do. McGee and Abby were playing a game of pool and Ziva..." he took a staggered breath before continuing, her name haunting his lips.

"Ziva was teasing me about my playboy ways. Her words… She asked me if I had any morals, if there was a line I wouldn't cross, if there was a woman who I wouldn't be attracted to, I wouldn't sleep with. I, surprisingly, said there were certain things that I felt were a complete turn-off." He smiled at the memory. "And so, we designed my perfect nightmare woman. The anti-thesis of my fantasy partner… Gibbs – Rachel fits that profile down to her red hair, breathy voice and annoying laugh."

Running his hands through his hair, Tony continued, "Another time, we created a code of sorts – something that would alert the other if we were ever in trouble. Mine was an old football buddy, named Frank who I was in college with. Hers…hers was a school friend turned Mossad agent who had recently been assigned to Paris. Sound familiar?"

He took a deep breath. "I think… I think Ziva is trying to tell us something. I think she is giving us messages through all the misinformation. I just need to figure out exactly what it is she wants us to know, and to do that, I need to get close to Rachel. I need Rachel to believe that we think she is simply here as Ziva's replacement. I need to convince her that we trust her. I think she is the key, Gibbs, and I will do whatever it takes to unlock this Pandora's Box."

* * *

Ziva was cold, so very cold. Had something to do with the fact that she currently ensconced in the belly of a cargo plane. Jacob sat on one side of her, his legs stretched out, mouth wide open, snoring loudly; Elijah was opposite staring intently at her, not even realizing it. He was trying to understand why she had managed to get under his skin, what it was about her that fascinated him. Was it her strength, her dogged determination, her sheer bloody-mindedness, or was it utter devolution to a group of worthless Americans she had only known a few years. He was completely baffled.

A new face, Aaron, Ziva thought his name was, barely 18 years old, was on her other side. His eyes bright, attentive, taking in all around him. His first trip out of the country Ziva realized with a shudder… babies doing the dirty work, sent to die. Aaron didn't even look like he was old enough to shave.

Her guards, her captors. She couldn't blame them – entirely. They were on a mission, following orders. They hadn't yet learnt to question authority, the validity of what they were doing. They were soldiers fighting a war and an enemy they didn't understand. What they didn't realize, was that they were as dead as she was. Loose ends always need to be neatened up. Can't have people going around saying they had been ordered to torture and kill the Director's daughter now can you… Particularly when said director's daughter is supposed to already be dead and buried. But it didn't matter… ignorance is bliss and can justify anything.

She sniggered under her breath, and Elijah looked up sharply. Jacob wasn't as understanding, eyes still closed; his snapped his hand out, catching her straight across her face, splitting her recently healed lip.

"Is that all you have?" she slurred, managing to raise the one eyebrow that wasn't bruised and swollen.

"I was told you were a quick learner," Elijah drawled. "I guess they were mistaken. Aaron, please remind Miss David here, who exactly is in control of this mission."

* * *

McGee was already at his desk when Tony entered the bullpen the next morning. Without saying a word, Tony started packing his personal items. McGee stared, wide-eyed, slack-jawed. As soon as his arms were full, Tony marched over to Ziva's desk, dumping his things. Realization and relief flooded McGee and he quickly stood, picking up his own things and moving them across to Tony's desk.

Tony sat in Ziva's chair, swiveled round and opened the bottom drawer. He pulled out her box of treasures, and pried open the lid. Lifting the photos out, he placed all but the brown envelope on the table. Digging in his rucksack, he pulled out a few more items, which he added to the box: A piece of black polished stone taken from the memorial tree Abby insisted they plant in the Naval yard, a small piece of wood from the boat he and Gibbs were building, a tightly furled yellow rosebud he pocketed at her "funeral", and finally, a small, delicate gold charm, in the shape of a phoenix, a sparkling ruby in place of an eye. Wrapping the charm gently in tissue paper, he lifted it to his lips before placing it in the box and taking one last glance, shut the lid and locked it away in the bottom drawer, pocketing the key.

The elevator doors opened and Gibbs stepped out, with Rachel following close behind. Acknowledging his team, Gibbs didn't bat an eyelid at Tony sitting at Ziva's desk, or McGee sitting at Tony's. He just pointed across to McGee's empty space and indicated that is where Rachel should sit. Catching Tony's eye, he gave a slight nod, recognizing the reasoning behind the move.

Tony just twisted his chair, and continued to put up the photos he had selected – Ziva's memories: the group photo of the entire team, including Ducky and Jimmy; a candid shot of McGee and Abby at last year's Halloween party – dressed as Robin Hood and Maid Marion; and the well-thumbed photo of the two of them, captured by McGee at a crime scene – her glaring at him, while he had his head back, in throws of laughter. He rubbed his thumb over the picture, remembering when it was taken, allowing himself a small smile to tug the corner of his lips.

Rachel moved across the bullpen and placed her manicured fingers on his shoulder. "I know that you and Ziva were close," she said softly. "I just hope that my being here will be of benefit. To both the team, and to you," she added breathlessly. Trailing her finger up his shoulder and along the side of his face, she spun his chair round and sauntered off, flicking her long red hair over her shoulder as she moved. McGee watched. "Is she for real?" he mouthed across to Tony who just shrugged, before returning the smile that Rachel sent his way as she sat down in her seat. Whatever game she was playing, he was certain he would match her point for point. This game was too important to lose.

* * *

Money may not buy you love, but it sure as hell can buy you a private landing strip and a concession to enter the United States of America under the radar, Ziva thought to herself as she was bundled out of the plane and into a waiting car, the airstrip's lights twinkling in the dark.

"This part is not for your eyes, wouldn't want you to recognize where you are going, now would we…" Elijah said softly, pulling a blindfold over her face and securing it tightly.

The trip lasted close on an hour, before she was manhandled into a service elevator. A few terse words exchanged at the entrance in Hebrew, and then they were in an apartment. A door was opened and she was pushed onto a chair, straddling it, the backrest pressing against her broken and bruised ribs, her injured arms cable-tied so that any movement would only increase the discomfort and tighten the pressure around her wrists.

Elijah looked out over the city. "I can see why you are so fond of this place," he commented. "Washington is beautiful this time of the year. Pity you won't be able to enjoy it."

He nodded at Jacob, as he made to leave the room. "There are a few more questions that need answering… and I see that perhaps we need to be a bit more persuasive in our technique." The door closed behind him.

Still blind-folded, Ziva heard the flare of the match; the smell of sulfur tickled her nose, replaced by the acrid scentl of smoke as Jacob inhaled deeply. A glint in his eye revealed a perverse delight in what he was about to undertake. Inhaling again deeply, he pulled his knife from his waistband, the sharp tip dancing across her shoulders and back, not hard enough to pierce her skin through the material, but just enough to show his intention. Catching the seam, he ripped, slicing her shirt open and exposing her back, unmarred and untouched…

Jacob admired the expanse of creamy skin as he removed the cigarette from his mouth, the tip glowing red in the half-light. He grinned at the smell of burning flesh and the hiss of pain escaping Ziva's lips. "Ready to share, or do you perhaps need a little more convincing?" Jacob mocked as he inhaled again deeply; pressing the cigarette onto a fresh, tender spot.


	9. Chapter 9 Whispers of Shadows

Disclaimer: same as before…

**Chapter nine: Whispers of shadows**

Abby liked people. She collected people like others would collect records, or thimbles, or postage stamps. She was a nice person. She played bowls with nuns, for crying out loud. She liked people.

Of course, she hadn't exactly been welcoming when Ziva joined the team. But, that was understandable, justified. They had just lost Kate, and Abby wasn't really sure her heart could take a new agent.

But the prickly Mossad officer, who claimed she didn't need people or emotions in her life, wormed her way into Abby's heart.

Oh, and then there was that ICE agent a few months back. Abby definitely didn't like her. But that didn't have anything to do with her per say, more to do with what she did – flirting with Timmy, her Timmy, in her own lab – unthinkable.

But Rachel – she couldn't stand her, with her perfect clothes, and perfect hair, and perfect make up and breathy voice and girlie laugh.

She made her skin crawl and she simply couldn't accept her as part of their team, whether it was temporary or not.

What she couldn't understand is why Gibbs and Tony seemed so welcoming, as if she was truly Ziva's replacement, as if Ziva was never coming back. And Abby couldn't, no wouldn't, accept that.

She looked up at Ziva's face, smiling down at her from her computer screen. "Don't worry, I won't give up on you, I won't let them forget you," she whispered.

Rachel walked into the lab, trailed by Tony and a very reluctant McGee; they were currently investigating the murder of a midshipman who had been killed while on a shore pass. Vance had begun assigning them cases again. Firstly they were his crack investigation team, and he needed them. And secondly, well, secondly, they couldn't have Rachel get suspicious now could they?

Abby treated Rachel with thinly-veiled loathing, looking straight through her, answering her only when she absolutely had to.

It was Gibbs who pulled her aside, and gently explained to her that while he didn't expect her to treat Rachel as her new best friend; he did need her to stop acting like a child, as this was potentially the only way they had to get Ziva back, where ever she may be. And so for Ziva and for Gibbs, she sucked it up.

Now, standing next to the forensic scientist, Rachel asked in her little girl voice: "Ziva told me that you are friends with that band, what's their name again… Organ donor?"

Abby looked confused for a moment, "Oh, you mean…"

From his position behind Rachel, Tony caught her eye and shook his head quickly.

Abby continued: "Yes… them. Stab is the lead singer, but don't be fooled by his name, or his appearance. He still lives at home with his mom. Got his name 'cos he managed to stick a knife through his hand when he was only six. The base guitarist is Scar. He has these scars on his face, nobody knows how he got them, and he has never said. He looks scarier that he actually is, as he is a complete teddy bear. Has this tiny wife, and two babies at home. Burn is the keyboard player…"

Tony interrupted: "Let me guess, got his name because he has burn marks?"

Abby looked confused. "No Tony," she said pursing her lips. "He tried to burn down his granny's home when he was 10." She shook her head sadly: "His granny was a bad sort, but he still got juvie for three years."

Turning back to Rachel, she continued: "Then there is Duane. He is the drummer. They play every Saturday night at this club I like. If you are interested, maybe you should come along?"

It was an olive branch, one she didn't much like holding out, but did so hesitantly anyway, remembering what Gibbs had told her.

"That would be great, thanks Abby." Rachel gushed. "Perhaps we could all go?" she added, leaning on Tony's shoulder for emphasis.

"Aaah, yeah," Tony and McGee said simultaneously.

"You know Abs, we would follow you to the end of the world and back," started Tony.

"But that place, once was an experience and one I am not that eager to repeat," McGee added, shuddering slightly.

"Oh," said Abby crestfallen. "Well, what about a drink tonight instead?"

This request was met with more enthusiasm, and they quickly made plans.

* * *

It was hard walking through the door of their local that night, knowing Ziva wasn't going to be there, a drink in her hand, leaning against the bar with a lazy smile. That she wouldn't be instigating round after round of shooters; that she wouldn't challenge McGee to yet another game of darts she was bound to win, but he would try anyway. That she wouldn't convince a slightly drunk Tony to sing Sinatra, while humming gently under her breath; that she wouldn't spin around madly with Abby as Tony and McGee quietly fed coins into the beat up jukebox, enjoying just watching the two of them let their hair down a little.

Joe, the bartender, looked up as the team walked in, a little bedraggled.

He smiled widely, before becoming more subdued. "Heard about Ziva, she was a right firecracker that one, and will be sorely missed," he said, reaching under the bar for the good stuff.

"I think Ziva would appreciate this. Round of Tequila on the house," he added, pouring shots for all of them. They lifted their glasses in the air: "To Ziva," they yelled, downing their drinks. No one noticed Tony pocketing the glass, or, if they did, they were polite enough not to say anything. Picking up their second round, they moved across the bar to a booth.

A few drinks later, and Tony was ready to call it a night. Rachel, while alluring in her own way, was coming on a little strong for Tony's liking. Ironic really, he thought, staring maudlin at the bottom of his glass, a beautiful woman is blatantly throwing herself at him, and all he can think about is going home, alone.

"I think that's me guys, gonna call it a night," he said, draining the last of his drink. Rachel and the others looked up in surprise, as he shifted out of the booth, bid them all a good night, and jamming his hands into his pockets, walked out into the night.

* * *

He turned his car towards the naval yard, and entering the NCIS building, made his way to Ziva's desk in the muted light. Sitting down, he unlocked the bottom drawer and pulled it open, removing the box. Opening it, he hesitated for a moment, before dropping the shot glass in. He lifted the yellow beanie out, closing the box. Roy wouldn't mind, Tony thought. In fact, the man he had been, he would probably appreciate the gesture. Stuffing the beanie into his pocket, Tony put the box away, locked the drawer and left the bullpen.

* * *

It was close on midnight, and the air was slightly chilled. Not that Tony noticed. Dressed in his sweats and running shoes, the beanie jammed firmly on his head, his feet beat out a steady pace on the pavement, matching the rhythm of his beating heart.

He never thought that he would enjoy running. Sprinting yes, that was something he excelled at. He was quick and deft and able to get out of any tight spot. Sprinting was easy and didn't seek commitment.

Not like running. Running needed you to come back morning after morning, night after night. It was a fickle mistress that asked, no demanded, commitment, else it would abject you to shin splints and blisters, heartburn and stitches. But once you gave of yourself, running would reward you, be the companion that soothed the broken soul and eased the troubled mind.

He didn't think twice about the route he was taking. His feet knew exactly where they were going, having done this trip at midnight many times before. Ziva's favorite route – over the bridge, across the park, around the water and back again.

He had found out quite by accident that she favored midnight runs as a way to burn off steam after particularly hard cases. It was one thing for her to run at 4 or 5 in the morning, as the sun was rising over Washington, but it was quite another in the middle of the night.

Oh, he knew she could more than protect herself, what with all her training.

But that didn't matter. He just wanted to make sure she was safe. And so, after the bad ones, he would be there, waiting in the shadows for her to come past. And when she was a distance in front, close enough for him to keep an eye on her, but not enough for her to know he was there, he would shadow her.

She never let on that she knew he was there, and he never spoke of it. But, after one particular gruesome case involving two young children, she was waiting for him as he came out of his apartment block. She just nodded to him, before taking off, running ahead, while he jogged a pace behind. They never spoke of it, questions were never raised and answers were never given. That is just the way it was.

Now, after a self-imposed hiatus while spending time with Gibbs and allowing his shoulder to heal, he was back, tracing the route they always took, with just the moonlight to guide his way.

He tensed. Some thing wasn't quite right, and instinctively he touched the waistband of his pants to feel the reassuring cold metal of his knife.

Gibbs' rule number 9 and Ziva's number one – always carry a knife with you. He barked a harsh laugh that echoed into the still night. Gibbs and Ziva, more alike than either of them cared to admit. He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't notice the shadow step out from behind the tree until it was almost too late.

He spun around, down on his haunches, his knife at the ready.

"Put that away, if I wanted you dead, you know full well you would be already," Hadar muttered.

Tony stood, placing the knife securely back at his waist. "Officer Hadar, long way from home aren't you?"

Hadar harrumphed. "Sit with me a while. Don't worry, I have checked. No eyes are on us." he added quietly and Tony, not knowing why or how he could trust this man, did as he was bid.

"This kind of reminds me of a movie…" Tony started, but Hadar put his hand up, silencing him.

"What I am about to tell you, could potentially result in my death. But, that is a price I am willing to pay for… Ziva. I have discovered she is alive."

With this, he turned to face Tony, whose features hadn't changed. "But, you already knew that, didn't you?" Hadar asked in amazement.

"Tell me what I want to know," Tony stated coolly.

Hadar hung his head. "I wish I could Anthony, I wish I could. I do not know where she is, except that I believe she may be held somewhere here in Washington. I know that it is believed she holds vital information that currently is being coerced out of her."

At this Tony winced. "Go on. What do I, what do my team have to do with this?"

"That is just it. I am not entirely sure. I am being kept in the dark with this mission; I fear that the Director doesn't entirely trust me." At this he laughed harshly. "And I suppose that is justified, considering the circumstances. All I know is that Rachel is intrinsically linked to this. That I am here as her control officer, and that her orders are to infiltrate NCIS and the team. Part of her mission is to seduce you. The director thought that he could appeal to your…baser instinct. Once she has succeeded, the next step of the mission can come into play. I am on a need to know basis only, and will only be informed of this once her initial target has been achieved."

Tony looked sideways at Hadar. "Why? Why now? Why us. What does the Director want?"

"My best guess, and it is only a guess, mind… The director wants revenge, for things that have happened in the past. For Ari's death and for the turning of his daughter's allegiance. And that means that Special Agent Jethro Gibbs and you are in grave danger."

With this, Hadar stood, pulling his hat down over his ears. "I trust this stays between us. Think about what I have said. And don't worry about finding me. I will find you when the time is right."

As he started to move into the shadows again Tony yelled out. "Why, why are you helping us?"

"It is too late for me. But perhaps, just perhaps, you will be in time to save Ziva." He replied, before melting into the darkness, leaving Tony staring out into the darkness.


	10. Chapter 10 Dark Corners, Twisted Limbs

**Disclaimer: Same as always...**

A/N: Thanks to all of you who reviewed the last chapter. I tried to edit some small errors, but haven't quite figured out how to do that without reloading the entire chapter. Please be warned, this chapter contains some adult themes. Hope you enjoy ;)

**Chapter 10: Dark corners and twisted limbs**

Director Eli David stretched in his chair, his hands behind his head, wearing an extremely self-satisfied expression. His plan was working beautifully. In fact, it couldn't be better if he tried. Those supercilious smug Americans, think they are so damn special, but he will make sure they pay.

This is a war as far as he is concerned, and in war, there is always collateral damage. Yes, there is a part of him that is saddened by the thought that his daughter; his last remaining child is that collateral damage. But, he reasons, she made her choices very clear when she shot and killed her half-brother.

They thought he would be fooled by that half-arsed report. And, if he were honest with himself, even just a little, he had been fooled. For a while. Until the truth came to light. How hard it had been to school his features when that little tit bit of information was dropped in his lap. He had to ensure his face did not give him away. It wouldn't do for the Director of Mossad to not know these things, to be informed the truth by some one as inferior to him as…

Damn Gibbs. That man has more lives than a cat. How many times must he try and take him out? He thought the plan was foolproof – sending Ari in. He tried, repeatedly and was killed for his efforts – shot by his own flesh and blood.

She had always been to damn obstinate for her own good. The sharp end of the spear, he had once described her. But, the sharp end is always the part that breaks off. It is the length of the spear that counts – you can always recreate the tip, the point. But the length – that is where the power lies.

Then there was the explosion on the ship, planned down to the last detail. No one should have survived – but, Gibbs did. Lost his memory for a while, was content to become an ignorant old man. But no, Ziva had to bring him back again, didn't she?

And she wonders why he had her followed, tailed. All those nights with her American partner, that scum who didn't care who he jumped into bed with – along as it was a willing, warm body. He really thought he had trained her better than that.

But, he reflected with a self-satisfied sigh, it would all soon come to an end. He would have the victory, the revenge he sought.

His expression dropped somewhat. Hadar worried him. He wasn't as sure as he once was regarding his officer's loyalties. Perhaps it was time to try him, test him. And he had just the way to do it, to confirm beyond a doubt where his allegiance lies.

Picking up the phone, he fired rapidly to his assistant: "Sarah, get me a secure line. I want a word with Officer Hadar."

* * *

Tony sat at his desk staring at his computer screen. He had been in the same position for a good 20 minutes now. Not blinking, not moving, just sitting.

McGee looked up at him, wondering if perhaps he should throw something in his direction. Gibbs caught him like that, no telling what he would do…

If McGee didn't know better, he could have sworn that Tony had perfected the art of falling asleep with his eyes open. A year ago, hell, six months ago, he would think he had. But not this Tony – which is why McGee was so concerned.

Almost reading McGee's thoughts, Tony looked up and gave him a faint smile.

"What's up Probie?"

Caught out, McGee fumbled. "Aaah, nothing. Nothing much Tony. Was just thinking that perhaps we should go for a drink this evening? I mean, Abby has been pestering me. It has been a few days since our last night out."

Rachel immediately jumped at the idea. "Oh, come, let's. It was so much fun the other night. Please Tony," she added, pouting a little in his direction.

Tony tried to swallow the revulsion he felt, at himself, at her. It wasn't her fault, he supposed. She was just doing what all good little Mossad officers do… Follow orders without hesitation, without question. Man, what a crock.

He had been playing the conversation with Hadar over and over in his head. What did it all mean? Could he trust Hadar? Did he trust him? Or was his desperation to know that Ziva was still alive, clouding his judgment. For all he knew, she really could be dead, her cold body lying somewhere, forgotten.

He shook his head violently. He had to get these images out of his head. He had to get his mind right. He was no good to his team this way.

Rachel and McGee were still looking at him expectantly. He sighed. "Yeah, let's make a night of it. McGee – tell Abby, it will give her something to look forward to."

* * *

"Yes sir. I hear you. Yes sir. Thank you, sir. I will be waiting."

Hadar put down the phone. He wiped the sweat from his face. The day was warm, yet he felt colder than he had ever been before.

What he feared had come to fruition, unbelievable, but the unfortunate truth. The egomaniac had lost all sense of reality.

At least, he was a step closer to finding out where they were keeping her.

Hadn't been given the directions, mind you. Had to wait on the corner, to be taken to the safe house, like some junior officer. The indignity of it all. Proved one thing though. He had better do what had been asked and then some, if he wanted to retain the trust of the director. He would have to watch his step carefully from here on out.

* * *

Abby had appointed herself the watcher, the protector, the friend. From her position at the bar, she sat, resting her hand on her chin, a grim expression on her face.

She chewed the corner of her lip, trying desperately to tear her eyes away.

But she couldn't. She couldn't.

"What is Tony doing, Timmy?" she asked plaintively, as McGee shrugged his shoulders and gestured for another drink.

They all knew that Tony liked the ladies… A lot. He used to brag about his conquests, loudly, graphically, sometimes embarrassingly so. But, they never saw him in action and he never brought his women to the team's drinking spot. It just wasn't done. His own self-imposed rule, Abby presumed.

Of course, they had seen Ziva and him with a few drinks in them. A song would come on the jukebox and he would stare affectionately into her eyes, pressing her into dancing with him.

And she would reluctantly agree, pushing herself off her seat while threatening him under her breath that if his hands shifted even just slightly off her waist, she would break every finger.

He would laugh, reach forward and brush an errant strand of her wild, tangled hair behind her ear as they gently swayed in the corner, oblivious to everyone around them.

As quickly as it started, it would end, and they would return to the table, cheeks slightly flushed.

And soon they would all say goodnight. With longing glances, lingering desire and a twinge of regret, they would part on the pavement, each going their separate way, not looking back, never looking back.

Which is why, this was so very, very hard. Abby leaned forward and slowly sucked her drink through the bendy straw. Not even the flame-colored concoction, with an equally big kick, could perk her mood up tonight.

She knew Tony had a lot to drink, hell, they all had. But was this really the way it was going to finish up? If so, she didn't want any part of it. It was like a train wreck, a car accident, or one of those B-grade horror movies. You don't want to watch, but as much as you tell yourself to look away, you feel compelled and your eyes stay glued on the scene in front of you.

She swallowed, hard. And next to her, McGee continued to stare forlornly into his drink.

"He is only a man, I guess. Hard to say no, when its in your face so blatantly," she murmured.

"I dunno, I guess I just expected more, you know?" McGee replied, drawing circles in the condensation that had pooled on the bar top.

* * *

In the darkened corner, Tony didn't know what to think anymore. He was numb. The alcohol had done its trick quite well, thank you.

His beer bottle hung loosely in his hand, his arms entwined around Rachel's waist as they moved to the music, hip to hip, chest to chest. Her hands entwined in his hair, as he drunkenly rested his forehead on hers. Breaking apart, just for a second, he took a deep gulp of his beer, staggering slightly as he tried to place the empty bottle on the table behind them, without letting go of her. He reached his hand up and twisted his fingers into her perfectly straight auburn hair. Staring deep into her blue eyes, he pulled her closer, crushing his lips to hers.

She tasted like cheap sweet white wine and a tinge of spearmint.

Ziva, he imagined, would taste like well-wooded whiskey, vanilla and coffee.

Immediately he pushed aside these reckless thoughts, and turned his mind back to the matter at hand. Pulling Rachel in closer, and kissing her again.

* * *

At the bar, Abby sighed again, and shoved her drink away. "I can't anymore Timmy. I just can't. All I want to do is go over there, pull her off him and smash her face against the brick wall. But instead, I have to sit here, and smile and approve. And I just cannot any more. My heart is too sore."

With this she stood. Hanging her head, she turned, uncharacteristically dragging her feet across the floor.

McGee watched her go. Not knowing what to say, not knowing what to do. Looking over to the barman, he raised his hand again. Perhaps this drink would be the one to give him the courage he was so sadly lacking.

Funny, he thought, that the person who believed she was unlovable, be the one that would tie them all together. Without her, they were just strangers, trying to hold onto the past. Downing his drink, he shoved his hands in his pockets and made his lonely way home.

* * *

In the darken corner, Tony was oblivious to his team mates', his friends', his family's discomfort. "My place," Rachel purred in his ear. "It's not far from here."

And Tony, drunkenly, lust-filled, agrees. He doesn't know why it must play out this way, why his been seduced by Rachel is seemingly so important. Remembering Hadar's words, he supposes that he has been in worse situations. How many men would complain about having to sleep with a beautiful woman? Hell, he would have jumped at this a few years ago, welcomed it, bragged openly about it. When did this all change? How did this all change?

And for a split second he questions the intelligence of his next move. Then Rachel presses her willing body against his, runs her long nails up the side of his jeans and he thinks – will it really be so bad?

It takes her a few tries to get her key in the lock, and she giggles lightly. Frustrated, Tony eases the keys from her hand, and inserts them into the lock, as she rubs up against him. He kicks the front door shut behind him, and she starts to undress. He wonders if any of this is real, for her, for him, for them.

Or does she also have the vision of someone else in her head? In that moment, he doesn't see pale skin, ethereal beauty and blue eyes, as he stares at the wanton naked woman in front of him, opening up to him, inviting him in.

In his mind, it's cream and chocolate, fire and ice, wild hair and wild eyes, the woman he desires. And succumbing to his dreams, his fantasy, he smiles languidly as he moves forward.

It's fast and slick and at that breaking point, the name of his dreams drips from his lips, shattering the moment as he collapses onto her.

He pushes himself up on his elbows, and reflected in her blue eyes, he sees… he doesn't quite know what he sees. Self-satisfaction fights with jealousy, sadness mixes with mirth. He pushes himself off her, mumbles something and reaching for his clothes, backs out of the room.

The front door shuts, and she climbs off the bed. Picking up her silk robe and securing it around her waist, she looks to where she knows the camera is hidden. She puts on a little show, a flash of skin, a wink and the blowing of a kiss, before the room plunges into darkness. She laughs, loudly, wickedly. Mission complete.

* * *

Ziva is strong, because she needs to be. She is strong because despite what she has been told, and what she has seen on the footage they have shown her, she believes beyond all doubt that her partner, her friend, her…

That he will follow the breadcrumbs she has strewn just like the children in her favourite fairytale. That he will know she is still alive, and will be doing everything possible to find her.

But that illusion is shattered. If she wasn't dead before, she is now. Her hope destroyed with each thrust, each tender look shared between the naked bodies on the screen.

She wants to turn her head away, to close her eyes against the images she sees, but she cannot.

She tries to show that this doesn't affect her, but time has taken its toll, and this hurt is harder to hide, to bite back, to swallow.

She pulls against the restraints holding her in place, and feels the pain rip through her. She welcomes this, embraces this.

These physical pains she can deal with, has been trained to deal with. But the emotional ones… those she battles to contain.

Her head drops forward, just for a spit second, before her hair is yanked viciously back. Her eyes prick and burn, and her unknown antagonist forces her to keep watching Tony succumbing to his passion. There is no sound, but none is needed, Tony collapses, spent, satisfied, onto the redhead, pushes himself up and stares into her eyes.

Ziva's chest physically hurts, a knifing sensation that cuts deeper than the broken bones and seared skin. Is this what betrayal feels like?

She blinks as the overhead lights flicker on, and as her eyes become accustomed, a form steps into her line of vision. Her antagonist, her friend, they swim into one and take on the features of Hadar.

She watches blindly, he takes a step forward, places a hand on either side of her chair and leans in.

"Not so brave now are you, little one?" he questions softly. "Ready yet to tell us? To roll on those who have clearly already rolled on you?"

Her puffy, bruised eyes stare at him, her lips curl into a sneer, she opens her mouth and spits into his face. Her final act of defiance.

He roars, his clenched fist connects, her nose spurts blood and her head snaps to the side, smacking the edge of the nearby table. A sickening thud, a whimper, then silence. Darkness swallows her and she gladly succumbs.


	11. Chapter 11 The Image of Who You Are

Disclaimer: Same as before

a/n: hope you like…

**Chapter eleven: The image of who you are **

Tony wearily enters his apartment, stripping as he goes. He wants to rid himself of the scent of the night, of what he has done.

Taking a black plastic bag from the cupboard under the sink, he shoves everything in, it doesn't matter that it is his custom-made jacket, his designer jeans, his favorite Italian handmade shoes. Even his underwear and socks go into the packet.

Whatever happens from here on out, he will never wear these clothes again. He belatedly realizes that his favorite silk tie, the one with the navy and blue stripes, is missing. The lone soldier left behind as he made his coward's retreat from Rachel's apartment.

Perhaps, she will have forgiven him sufficiently to bring it to work, preferably still in one piece. But, somehow he doubts this very much.

He laughs, out loud to himself, as he walks through his bedroom and into the bathroom. When did he become this man? When did he, of all people, grow a conscience? Love 'em and leave 'em. That was always his motto. He was fully committed to the one night stand – and if they were worth it – a weekend, or if they were really worth it - two weeks.

Hell, his longest relationship had been one based on lies, deceit and orders. Yes, Jeanne had been a relationship, a woman he could see himself with, whom he was attracted to and enjoyed her company. And, yes, a part of him, the part that was Tony DiNardo the college professor, fell in love with her…

Viciously twisting the hot tap on, he laughs again. A short, mocking sound that bounces off the bathroom walls. Relationship – what does that even mean? Would that be the person who makes you laugh and cry, sometimes in the same breath? That can pick you up, or crush you with a look. Would that be the person who is the first thing you think of in the morning, and the last you think of at night, without you even realizing it? Would that be the person who you share your thoughts, dreams, and sometimes, even your darkest secrets with. The person who can calm you with a touch, who brings you back into line when you won't admit it, but deep down you know, you are out of control. The person whose very air you want to breathe, so much it hurts. The person that you can sit for hours with, not saying a word. The person who knows you better, understands you better, than you even know yourself.

If that sums up a relationship – then hell – guess he's been in one for four years. Didn't even fully realize until she was no longer there, and the space she used to fill, replaced instead with a large, gaping hole.

He steps under the searing water, leans his head against the cool tiles of the shower, trying to wash the events of the last few hours away. Scrubbing himself red and raw, but water and soap cannot sluice away guilt. Yes, guilt. Didn't think he was capable of that emotion.

He feels dirty, used and strangely violated. He feels cheap. Is this what all those women, the ones he had left curled, sleeping in their beds, with nary a phone call after, is this what they felt?

And he wonders what could possibly be going through Rachel's mind at this time – does she feel the same way? Will she cling to him in the morning at work, breathily invite him back again, or will he have to explain to the team why their newest liaison officer is huffy, distant and cold. Perhaps not his best idea to mess with a trained killer… but, he thinks, it's not the first time... Guess he really is a slow learner.

Toweling off, he dresses in sweats and moves through to the lounge. Despite the hour, he knows he can't, won't sleep.

* * *

What has he done? Hadar watches horrified, as the blood spurts and pools. Ziva's eyes remain closed, dark circles beneath them, whether from lack of sleep or their fists, he cannot tell.

The door opens, slams into the wall, revealing Elijah and Jacob.

"You fool," Jacob spits, pushing him out the way, as he quickly checks her pulse. It's thin and thready, but even so, he's not taking any chances with this one. He slips his hand down the front of her shirt, cups her breast and squeezes roughly. She doesn't flinch, her eyes don't flicker.

"It's alright," he tells Aaron, who has followed them in. "You can untie her, she is out cold."

Elijah pulls Hadar back. "Go," he says quietly. "Sort yourself out, you cannot let the younger men see you this way. You cannot show emotion like this."

One last look at Ziva lying on the floor, Jacob working on her, before he leaves the room. Hadar just makes it to the bathroom, closing the door; he retches into the toilet bowl.

Standing by the sink, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he looks up at the mirror and the eyes of stranger stare mockingly back at him. Roaring, he smashes the image.

It is Elijah who comes looking for him, finds him a few minutes later, still sitting in the corner of the bathroom, shattered shards of mirror around him. He leans against the doorframe, looks down at Hadar. "She will be okay. Twelve stitches and a headache from hell, but she will be okay."

Hadar shakes his head, looks up at the younger soldier, questions in his eyes: "Will she, really? Will any of us?"

With this, Elijah sinks onto the floor next to him, thinks carefully as he replies. "I really don't know. I sometimes wonder what we are doing here, what I am doing here. When I joined Mossad all those years ago, I believed that I would be working for the greater good. Protecting the integrity of life, but lately?"

Hadar acknowledges his quiet statement, nodding slowly. "What kind of a man does this? Orders this? What kind of a person allows this to happen?"

Something in Elijah's face changes, becomes contorted and the slight pang of pity he felt for the man next to him disappears. He abruptly stands, catches Hadar's collar and yanks him up. Almost nose to nose, he seethes: "You of all men should know. Are you not his right-hand man? His confidant? You ask what kind of a person allows this to happen? I am looking at him right now."

He releases Hadar, shoving him against the wall. "Now, I suggest," he spits out, "that you sort yourself out, take control of the situation, and your men. As you have been ordered to do. You are the officer in charge, are you not? I may be sympathetic to your… emotions. The others will not and unless you want to find yourself shipped back in pieces…" The threat hangs in the air.

Elijah makes to walk out the small room, turns back to utter one last thing: "Just know, that when it comes down to it, I will finish this assignment even if it means death to me and those around me. I am still prepared to die for my country and the allegiance I have pledged. You have been warned." With this, Hadar is left alone once more.

Hadar's phone rings, he looks down. Sees the encrypted number and sighs – he recognizes the code – the director. Got to love those time zones.

Answering, he listens to the missive issued in a curt tone. Snapping the phone shut, he pushes himself off the floor and goes to find the others, blanching as he replays the phone call in his head.

Well, he supposes, Elijah did want him to take control of the situation and prove to the team where his loyalties lie. This should certainly make up for his previous lapse in judgment.

"Get the clean up crew ready," he barks as he steps into the lounge, surprising the five agents languidly eating pizza, watching television, playing cards. "We have a job to do."

In his mind, his heart, he knows he can't condone what they are about to undertake, but maybe, just maybe this will keep Ziva alive for another 24 hours - no thanks to him.

* * *

Tony sits, staring at the blank TV. He tried dozing for few minutes, exhaustion overcoming him, but as he jerked awake, the reality of the situation flooded his memory in technicolor clarity. So, now, he sits. Waiting for the night to turn to day.

Which is why, when his phone rings at 5.05am, he answers it without hesitation.

"Boss?"

"DiNozzo, you awake? Of course, you are awake…" Gibbs mutters. "Got a problem. Can you get down to 2300 Hartford Street?"

Tony's brow furrows, a cold feeling of dread seeps through him. "I know that address, Boss. Is she… ah… she dead?"

He can almost feel Gibbs' piercing glare through the phone line.

On the other side of town, Gibbs looks over to the body lying prone on the bed, white silk robe open, red hair splayed out over the pillow, a navy and blue tie wrapped tightly around her mottled, bruised neck. His gut is shouting out at him, and he doesn't much like what it is saying.

"Early signs show strangulation. Should know more once Ducky gets the body back to autopsy. Can't say that this isn't a problem, DiNozzo, one that seems to get worse by the second. Got somethin' you want to share?"

Tony gulps audibly, "It is bad Boss, really bad. I think I should rather meet you in Abby's lab. Probably better, least anyone suggests I've contaminated the scene. I'm surprised that Fornell and his goons aren't knocking down my door as we speak." He takes a big breath: "Let's just say, I have been screwed, both literally and figuratively."


	12. Chapter 12 Rule 15

**Disclaimer: Same as last chapter, same as next chapter…**

A/N: Thanks again for all the awesome reviews. I enjoy writing, but having you all leaving these great reviews, adding me to your alerts and favourites – just adds something extra – you know? Makes me feel like I am doing something worthwhile and readable…

**Chapter Twelve: Rule 15**

He dresses carefully for the occasion, choosing his best suit, the green button-down shirt, mint green and pale pink striped tie. What the hell, he thinks, smoothing down his tie as he stands in the elevator, might as well look good while facing the firing squad.

Abby is standing, waiting for him as the doors slide open, her pigtails quivering, nervously chewing her lip. "What's going on Tony?" she asks her eyes wide. "Gibbs called, told me I had to come in, it was urgent. Said that Rachel is dead. Is she dead, Tony? Last time I saw her, she was with you and the two of you were, well you know what you were doing, and I was mad Tony, I was really, really mad with you. But now she's dead, and I know I should be sad. But I'm not, Tony, not really. Does that make me a bad person?"

Tony, shakes his head, drops the black bag he is holding, and gathers her in his arms, her chains jangling and jingling as he pulls her into his embrace. Kisses her cheek lightly. "Abby, I need you to be strong. I need you to be top of your game. I need you to trust me. Things are going to look bad. All the evidence is going to point to me, and then some. But, it will be okay. I was due to be framed for another murder, hasn't happened this year as yet, has it? Now, go to your lab and I will be there soon. We have work to do."

She gives him a watery smile, salutes and marches off to the elevator. Only the ever so slight bounce in her step signifies that she is not as happy as she pretends to be.

Grimacing, Tony looks up towards the Director's office. Might as well get this over with.

* * *

By the time Gibbs and McGee make it back to headquarters, Tony is in the lab, Agent Peterson from another unit swabbing his mouth, under the watchful eye of Vance. Gibb's raises an eyebrow.

Vance returns the look, shifting his customary toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other.

"Don't look at me - your agent comes marching into my office - demands I be here. I've got better things to do than to witness what DiNozzo has under his finger nails…"

Pushes himself off from where he is perching. "Now, if my presence is no longer required, I am going to MTAC. Got to tell Director David his second liaison has died on American soil. Liaisons, sent to investigate deaths, not become the investigation. Would be safer to send Mossad officers to a Hamas convention, instead of here…" he mutters, leaving the lab.

"Boss, just making sure everything is done by the book. Probie – there is a black bag on my desk, has the clothes I was wearing earlier. Can you bring it down for bagging and tagging, didn't want to do it myself – chain of evidence." Tony replies, grimacing as a strand of hair is pulled from his head and placed in an evidence bag.

McGee, slack-jawed, looks over to Gibbs, waiting for confirmation.

"You heard the man, McGee, why you still here?" is the sardonic response.

"And take the stairs," Tony yells at his retreating back. McGee does a sharp turn, his feet skid out from under him, his fingers touching the floor, as he spins round the corner and races up the stairs.

Gibbs continues to stare at Tony, Abby stands to the side, feet turned inwards, head bobbing as she wrings her hands. She doesn't like this, doesn't like this at all.

"DiNozzo?" Gibbs questions, his gaze piercing.

"Right Boss – your office?" Tony replies, but he is speaking to Gibbs's retreating back. He slips into the elevator just as the doors are about to close. Gibbs leans forward, hits the emergency button, leans back and folds his arms.

Taking a deep breath, Tony reveals what he knows: Hadar followed him on his run, had told him that Ziva was alive, but he didn't know where she was. Had said that while he wasn't entirely sure why, Rachel's mission was to seduce him, Tony, and realising he was running out of time, he went along with the plan. Didn't expect it to turn out like it did. Didn't think she would end up dead.

Gibbs sighs.

"Mad with me Boss?" Tony asks quietly, out of both words and breath.

"No, no… just disappointed. You and Ziva, both think that you can be the damn heroes, trying to protect everybody but you just end up getting yourselves in more trouble. Trust, Tony – you should have trusted me enough to help you. Ziva should have too. Rule number 15 – Always work as a team."

"Yeah, but didn't you also teach us that it's better to ask forgiveness than permission? Gibbs, you of all people should understand. I didn't have a choice," Tony answers, dejected.

"DiNozzo, you always have a choice." Shakes his head sadly, continues: "I will do what I can, but, Fornell is on his way. You are going to be interrogated and most probably suspended pending the outcome of an investigation. A girl is dead. Not just any girl, a Mossad operative. You were the last one with her; your tie was used as the murder weapon. And this is the second Mossad operative believed to have died by your hand. Can you see how bad this looks for you?" He pushes the emergency button, and the elevator doors open.

"You know I will support ya, but, I'm telling ya – it doesn't look good DiNozzo." Gibbs moves to walk into the bullpen.

"I know Boss, but don't you see? This is exactly the way it's meant to be. It's the only way." Tony says, so quietly, that Gibbs isn't even sure he heard right.

Fornell and two agents are waiting in the bullpen. McGee stands, hands wide, apologetically. Well, thinks Tony, could be worse, Agent Sacks could be the one questioning him – again.

Fornell steps forward, exchanges a look with Gibbs, a gentle nod of the head the other accepts. "Sorry for your loss, Jethro." Inclines his head towards the passage way and interrogation: "Shall we?"

They walk, Gibbs leading, Fornell bringing up the rear. Gibbs opens the door, steps inside, Tony is about to follow when he feels a light tug at his elbow. Turns and looks into the concerned eyes of the senior FBI agent. "She was one of the good ones." Tony, surprised, nods as Fornell continues "Know Agent DiNutso, what happens in there, is just business." Gives Tony a light smile. It's fleeting, before his face slips back into business mode and he walks into the room. Standing alone in the passageway, Tony realizes that he has just been given a glimpse into the inner sanctum that is Gibbs' and Fornell's convoluted relationship.

"Ya coming, DiNozzo?" Gibbs calls from the room, and Tony steps in his head held high. It's going to be a long, hard morning.

* * *

They question him for hours, and it is early afternoon by the time they feel they are satisfied enough to let him go. Gibbs and McGee watch from behind the mirror. Vance comes in briefly, as does Ducky, both checking on how he is holding up. He is his usual cocky self – or tries to be. His façade slips just ever so slightly when his former partner's name is brought up. Rivkin's death, the trip to Israel, Ziva's death, the second trip to Israel, Rachel joining the team and their last night together, are all dissected, piece by piece. Tony answers them as honestly as he can, gives them what they need to know, but keeps certain elements to himself. Only he, and now Gibbs, know the full story. It needs to stay that way, to protect the living. Nothing you can do for the dead anymore.

Abby tries to watch, to support her friend, but the line of questioning, the anguish and tension and the seemingly Tony-like answers are too much for her. Shoulders hunch as tears flow unabated down her cheeks. "It's not true, it's not true," she recites under her breath, over and over again until Gibbs, not knowing what else to do with her, suggests that McGee should accompany her to the lab. Maybe, he explains, there is something she missed, something that could save, rather than bury Tony in this mess he has landed himself in. She gives him a watery smile, and nods bravely, and Gibbs feels a slight pang of guilt, knowing that she will not sleep, will not rest until she finds that miniscule link which will prove Tony's innocence. Turning his head back to what is happening on the other side of the mirror, he shakes the guilt away – Tony needs his full attention now – the others, just like siblings do, will understand and step back.

* * *

It's over, for now. Tony is suspended. Hands over his service weapon, his badge, his passport and walks towards the lift, not looking back. Could be worse, could have been arrested, the amount of evidence that is piling up against him. But a quiet word from Gibbs, some to-ing and fro-ing and Fornell has agreed to lay off, for 48 hours. After that… the implication is clear.

Gibbs yells at the retreating back, the hunched shoulders. "DiNozzo – stay out of trouble, ya hear. Go sit on a park bench or something." And Tony smiles brightly. That is exactly what he is going to do…


	13. Chapter 13 Playboys and Guns

**Chapter 13: ****Playboys and Guns**

Ziva is pissed – at the world, at her captives, but most of all – at Tony. He should have known, he should have understood, he should have read the signs. But, he didn't. So now she is pissed, and sore, and has a headache the size of Washington itself. The physical injuries, those she can handle – the new cuts and burns marks that sting like hell, the scabbing over injuries that itch, the broken bones slowly starting to knit… those are like child's play – but this gapping raw cut that tears at her chest?

She thinks back to that night in the bar – seems like another life now. Abby had dragged McGee off to play a game of pool, he was muttering and moaning and she, with a smile on her face, told him she would teach him the intricacies of the game.

Standing behind him and guiding the cue stick, her dark hair in their regulatory pigtails, bouncing in anticipation, ticking McGee's nose and making him sneeze.

All too soon it was pretty obvious that McGee had been playing Abby as well as the game – the boy had skills.

From their view point in one of the booths, Ziva and Tony chuckled loudly. A blonde waitress came passed and Tony flashed her one of his famous smiles, stopping her in her tracks. She returned the look, gave Tony a flirtatious wave before moving off to the next table.

Ziva just shook her head and poured them another two shots from the half drunk Tequila bottle on the table. Tony nuzzled the sensitive part of her neck, as he picked up his shot glass.

"You are unbelievable you do know that don't you Tony," she muttered affectionately, slapping his face gently and pushing him away.

"What?" he asked innocently, tossing back his drink. "You do know that it is entirely your fault don't you? Those innuendos; bending down over my desk, giving me a glimpse of the untouchable; looking at me with those bedroom eyes all day; makes a guy a little on the uncomfortable side you know… Especially since you refuse to help."

He gave her a sideways glance, and a devilish smile: "Changed your mind yet?" he asked tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, trailing his hand down around her neck, lightly grazing her breast.

She shook her head. "So, let me get this straight. You are trying to sweet talk me into your bed – while undressing the waitress with your eyes? And you wonder why you go home uncomfortable?"

She laughed, reaching forward for the bottle of Tequila again. "You are a playtoy Tony." She hesitated, no wait, that didn't sound right… "You are a playboy, Tony. Is there any woman that you wouldn't sleep with?"

"Well, you for starters," Tony said, nuzzling her neck again. She lightly tapped him on the back of his head.

"And that is not for a lack of trying, Tony. Be serious now." She leaned forward on her elbow, staring deeply into his eyes. "Okay," he mumbled. "Red heads. I am not interested in red heads…"

"But what about Shania – a few months back – she had red hair?"

"Strawberry-blonde Zee-vah. That is different."

"Aahaa? Really… So what else is considered a turn-off for Tony DiNozzo?"

And so they designed, laughing, Tony's nightmare girlfriend – down to the flirty, breathy laugh and little girl voice….

She had hoped, when this information was dragged, beaten and bleed out of her just a few weeks ago, she made it sound that this would be Tony's ultimate fantasy. She had hoped that Tony would have enough sense to see through this façade. She had hoped…

So she now is pissed. This is what has been keeping her alive, the knowledge that he and the merry team of men would come. So, she held on, for them. But now, anger is keeping her strong, the betrayal fresh in her mind is enough, she will get through this. She will fight and once she gets out of this hell hole, she will smack Tony so hard that he will still feel it next week. How can a man who claims he is so intuitive, claims to know her so well – be so damn thick? What more does he want – flashing neon arrows pointing in her direction?

* * *

Four years; four birthdays. He had always questioned her rather bizarre choice of gifts – but figured that for a trained killer, it was probably one of the highest accolades he could get – so took them in the spirit they were given. Now, he is grateful, as he collects the weapons, securing them on his body, under the clean lines of his tailored suit, along with his own knife choice, a Spyderco Endure.

The first year it was a Balisong dagger otherwise known as a butterfly knife, so sharp that it could slice through skin like butter, not that he had ever tried himself of course. But, having said that; didn't put it past her having tested it.

She had proudly described the killing attributes, perched on the edge of his desk, an innocent look on her face, flicking the knife open and shut in her hand, as McGee blanched visibly. The second year, it had been something with a little history – a Smith and Wesson 38 special. The third year, a Glock 17 and last year, his ultimate favorite – a Remington 870 – pump action shot– choice of marines and killers everywhere.

The Remington, he keeps in its case (for now) securing it in the boot of his car. Mighty suspicious to be running around a park in broad daylight, wearing a trench coat to conceal your shotgun. Don't want Au pairs and mothers out enjoying the day with their young charges to go running to the police now do you…

So, he sits and waits on a park bench, just a few trees down from where he last met Hadar. For what, he is not entirely sure. But his gut, yes he is getting as bad as Gibbs, is screaming at him. He tries to still the nervous twitch of his right leg, as he bounces his knee. Tries to appear calm, collected and simply enjoying the afternoon. A business man on his lunch break, he has a newspaper folded beside him. He has been here for a few hours now, and is just about to get up and move on, when he feels a presence behind him and pressure on his shoulder. He sees the bloody, bandaged hand clasping his shoulder and knows instinctively why. Grabbing Hadar's wrist, he viciously twists the already damaged appendage.

"I suggest," Hadar says through gritted teeth, pain flaring up his arm, "that unless you want to make a scene, you release me."

It is only then, that Tony sees the pain in Hadar's eyes, the deep circles, and how he has aged in the few short days since he saw him last.

"She… alive?" he asks, gulping audibly. Not entirely sure if he wants to hear the answer.

"Barely," Hadar grimaces. "No thanks to me." Again, Tony feels the bile rise up in his throat and clenches his fists tight at his side.

"Good, control that anger, you are going to need it soon enough," Hadar nods satisfactorily.

He sits down next to Tony, and speaks, quickly, quietly. Rachel had done her job well, fulfilled her mission – getting close to the team and in particular – Tony himself. As a reward, she was murdered.

It was all part of the plan you see. Quite clever, this two-fold mission. Firstly, the officers had realized Ziva's Achilles Heel – Tony. It was only when his name was mentioned, did she show any signs of being even vaguely human. She had been unbreakable in…interrogation.

Withstood more than men twice her size and her training. It was quite remarkable, and completely unexpected. So, when it was discovered that Tony was her weakest link – the plan was devised.

Rachel would seduce Tony, and this would be captured on film, for Ziva, of course. This, along with the footage of them discovering her body outside of the Naval Yard (yes, this too had been captured for Ziva's viewing pleasure) and her funeral, ensured that Ziva knows that not only had her team mourned her death, but had willing moved on. No one was looking for her, no one would save her.

Meanwhile, Tony himself would be set up for murder. Yes, it was an age-old plan, and yes, Tony was routinely set up for murder, but beauty was in the simplicity, you see.

Being set up once, maybe, twice – a coincidence, three times, well some people are just unlucky – but the forth – well, the forth can quite simply be murder. No one is that unliked and unlucky. And, well, Tony had just lost his partner to a violent, bloody death, his head wasn't in the right space. And then he succumbed to his bodily desires with the very woman who had replaced his partner. To much for him you know? Killed her, in a fit of rage and passion. Why should she live, when his beautiful Ziva had died? Of course, he would be consumed with guilt at what he had done. He is a federal officer after all, his job is to save and protect, not to take.

They know he had been interrogated all morning, he was a creature of habit, and would be sure to visit his local pub on the way home. A few well-placed drinks poured down his throat, and Special Agent DiNozzo would stagger out of the bar.

On-lookers would later say that they don't know what happened. That one minute he was walking along the sidewalk and the next, he was stepping out into the street, into oncoming traffic. Poor man never stood a chance. It was almost as if he wanted that car to hit him.

Once the news gets back to Ziva and Gibbs, the plan would be nearing completion. Ziva would give up her fight, and would welcome the darkness death would bring her, and Gibbs, well Gibbs would leave NCIS, the guilt of losing the agent he thought of as a son, driving him into a spiraling depression he would never recover from.

That, and of course, discovering the real Ziva's broken, lifeless body in his basement. And that is where he will be found, stinking of bourbon, a recently fired gun in his hand. Bloody footprints would lead to the crate, behind which Ziva's body will be discovered. Trust you see – it's the most important thing. Break that, and well, there is no telling what will happen.

Tony listened to the scenario of a madman slip from Hadar's lips. Could one person have so much loathing, so much hate in him, that he would be capable of using the power invested in him to carry out a mission of vengeance – and for what? What was the real reason behind all of this? What had Gibbs, himself and even Ziva done to deserve this? Hadar didn't have an answer for that.

Tony is running out of time. He will have to infiltrate the safe house and rescue Ziva – tonight. The sun has long since set, the young children happily playing, have been taken home for the night, bathed, fed, loved and safe.

Hadar slips a piece of paper with the address into his hand.

"And how do I know this isn't a trap?" Tony asks.

"You don't. But somehow, I don't think the idea of death scares you anymore. Now, I must bid you farewell. I have some business I need to take care of. We will not meet again. I wish you luck and success in your mission."

And with that, Hadar disappears into the shadows. Tony looks at the address, records to memory. Takes a lighter out of his pocket, for such occasions and watches the paper flare and burn as he flicks it into the bin.

"Hold on Zi, I'm coming," he whispers into the darkness.


	14. Chapter 14 Pandora's Box

**Disclaimer: Same as before... same as next chapter.**

A/N: Warning: violent and angsty. This is the first time that I have written a fight scene, so I hope it works and flows! You know what it's like when you try something new, always a bit nervous. (teehee) This will be a 20 chapter story, if all goes according to plan. I hope you are all still enjoying my story? I have the other chapters already written, so should be posting more regularly... - K

**Chapter fourteen: Pandora's Box**

He sits, hidden by the darkness, or so he hopes. The element of surprise is all he has on his side. That and sheer doggedness.

Rolls his aching shoulder, checking for stiffness. He cannot falter, he cannot hesitate. Picks up his phone and makes the call.

"Gibbs," he whispers. "I think I have found her."

And across town, the older agent listens intently as Tony explains the situation in hushed tones.

"We are on our way DiNozzo," Gibbs replies, inclining his head towards the younger agent who stands anxiously by his desk, nervous damp fingers running up and down the sides of his legs.

"Boss… could be a trap…. don't know how much … trust Hadar. If anything happens… find Ziva…" the signal is intermittent as Gibbs tries to get a handle on what Tony is saying.

"Wait for us DiNozzo. Don't go in without backup." Gibbs warns, but he is talking to dead air.

The phone lies open on the car seat, the screen glowing in the dark. Tony makes his way to the service entrance of the converted warehouse, overcoat flapping in the wind.

"Damn," Gibbs mutters. "Too head strong for his own good." Picks up his phone and calls Vance. "It's happening and we need all the firepower we can get."

Tony uses the access code given by Hadar, takes a deep breath as the red light flickers to green, allowing him in.

So far, so good. Stealth is key at this juncture. Hadar mentioned there were no security cameras. Shows the arrogance, the unshakable belief that the safe house is safe indeed. Not for Ziva, mind you.

Pulls his knife from his waistband, holds it firmly in his hand. He is not one for hand-to-hand combat. Likes the clean kill a gun provides. But cannot risk the sound of gunfire echoing through the hallway.

He sees the guard, his back to him, feet up on the table as he dozes quietly. And, knowing he doesn't have the time, still hesitates. The man is sleeping, for crying out loud. He is somebody's brother, son, father, lover…

For all his bravado, his James Bond wannabe muster, Tony doesn't possess a license to kill. He is an investigator, he trained as a cop. He shoots only when being shot at, it's a protective mechanism.

A light noise, muffled voices from within and the man stirs. Taking a deep breath, Tony steps up behind his victim and slits his throat. A light gurgling, then nothing.

Not a particularly religious man, Tony still says a quick prayer for the dead as he shifts the lifeless body out of sight under the table. He gently closes the unseeing eyes and notices, to his surprise, the water that drips from own his eyes.

Standing, he harshly swipes at his face. He has stepped over the line, there is no turning back. It's kill or be killed in this world. Ziva taught him that, and, finally, he understands.

Wiping the knife, he sheaths it once more, looks left and right, before moving towards the apartment. He slips out the lock-picking kit, this one a birthday gift from Gibbs, and makes quick work of the door.

He swallows the queasy feeling that this is all a little too easy. Opens Pandora's Box, pushes the door ever so slightly and waits for the gunfire to erupt. Nothing. Leaning up against the wall, he slides the door wider, and again waits. Still nothing. Takes a deep breath and slips in, silently closing the door behind him.

The entrance hall is surprisingly empty. He can hear the sound of music and raucous laughter coming from down the passageway. Somewhere, off to the left, he surmises, the clanging of pots and smell of dinner cooking hangs in the air. What the hell? Are they really that confident security wouldn't be breached? He expected better of Mossad operatives.

The first door, slightly ajar shows a bedroom of sorts, twin beds both unmade, clothes strewn over the floor.

The second is a surveillance room. If the table, two chairs and various electronic devices, don't give it away, the large plasma screen surely does. The screen is on, and in high definition he sees Ziva – strapped to a chair, growling like a wild animal at her unseen aggressor just off camera.

Every cut, every bruise, every mark, on her once pretty face is there in perfect clarity.

And in this moment, Tony realizes why Ziva was so loathe to have a television before he forced one on her, that is. For her, it was an interrogation tool, not a source of entertainment.

Tony hears the smack of fist connecting with skin and sees her recoil. The operative steps into the camera's view. Young, arrogant, and fully aware of himself, there is a gleam in his eye.

"Elijah said we should wait, but I say to hell with Elijah and waiting, what is he going to do, what will the director do but cheer? I want you while there is still a bit of a fight left in you." Yanks her hair back and roughly kisses her. The glint of the knife reflects the sun from the window, as it slices down through her thin t-shirt, ripping it wide open.

Enraged, without thought or care, Tony pushes open the door of the inter-leading room.

Jacob turns, too startled to react, his pants now unbuckled, pooling by his ankles. Tony lunges forward and viciously slices through his stomach with the Balisong dagger.

Jacob staggers back, a confused look on his face, his intestines spilling over his hands. He collapses to the ground.

Ziva is right after all - Tony thinks callously, stepping over the dying man - this really does slip through skin like butter. Using the same knife, he makes quick work of the cable ties holding her captive.

He lifts her head, checks to see if she is still somewhere in there, behind those dark, dead eyes. Satisfied, he pulls his overcoat off and shoves it roughly at her.

Without a word, she takes it, eases into it as quickly as her wounds will allow and gingerly stands.

"Can you make it out of here?" It's the first words he has uttered since entering the room, the first he has said to her since Israel. She nods, slowly, carefully.

"Don't know how many more there are out there. Two down, I think we have six to go. You ready?" he questions, thrusting the bloody dagger and Glock into her hands as he swings the shot gun off his shoulder.

She lifts her hand, her silent gesture asking for a moment, which he gives her. Stepping forward, she tilts her head, watching Jacob lying on the floor, coughing up blood. There is no expression on her face, there is no emotion. Kicks him viciously in the ribs, spits on his face, as the life drains from him. Now, she is ready.

Footsteps…coming closer. Tony glances out into the passageway. Aaron is walking towards them, whistling tunelessly, oblivious. Ziva pulls Tony back into the room, a quick shake of her head as she pushes past him. Steps forward, raises her gun, shooting Aaron point blank, his eyes wide, his mouth a perfect "o". He is dead before he hits the floor. Bending over his body, she presses her fingers to his forehead, gently. He doesn't deserve a violent death; he was just a child, doing a man's work.

Tony moves out into the passageway, yanking her up as he goes, not caring about her wounds. Won't matter much, if she is dead, now will it? Seeing the empty room in front of him; pulls her along with him.

At least, he hopes it's empty. It's going to be a lot harder here on out. Any hope of them quietly sneaking off has been blown away, along with half of Aaron's chest.

Shouts, angry exclamations fill the air. The remaining operatives have discovered the bodies and are swarming, ready to attack. Tony and Ziva quickly look around the room they find themselves in. It's a bachelors' haven – pool table, foosball and on the main wall, another big screen plasma TV – clearly they don't have the same issues Ziva has.

Backing up against each other, Tony and Ziva keep a wary eye on the two entrances into the room: ready, waiting, anticipating. Trust _their _luck, they think. But, they are back in familiar territory - together, weapons clutched firmly in their hands. This is what they are used too, this is what they do best – get themselves out of tight fixes.

They anticipate each other's moves, back-to-back, spinning around as the bullets fly. Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt would be proud of them - Tony allows the random thought to flit through his head -all they are missing are the silver suits and sunglasses. Tony crouches down low; Ziva up high. A slew of bullets – three more bodies down.

Out of bullets - out of time. Breathing heavily, they lean against each other, staring at the two remaining men – Elijah and another officer. Ziva cannot remember his name, but remembers his touch; some of the fresh glistening open cuts on her back can be accredited to his…talents. Guns lift higher, pointing at their heads. "Nothing personal, of course, just orders," Elijah shrugs.

Eyes squeeze tightly shut, bodies lean closer into each other, unwittingly, unknowingly. After all this, after surviving so much, after getting this far… was this how it was going to end?

Triggers tapped…click, click.

Taking the opportunity, Ziva sticks her leg out, spins round tripping the unknown soldier onto the ground, throws her weight on him as she twists his head brutally to the side - target eliminated.

Tony picks up a nearby cue stick jams it into Elijah's ribs, forcing him back. Elijah grabs hold the other end, pulls Tony towards him, slams him into the wall, glass shatters as Tony smacks into the plasma screen. His wrist twisted up behind him, bones crack, blood flows, Tony falls to the floor.

Ziva jumps on Elijah's back, bites down hard on his ear. Elijah easily throws her off, she is weakened, the adrenaline that was flowing through her veins, beginning to ebb and wane.

She slides across the floor, slamming into the couch, a ragdoll, as he moves towards her. Leans over her, his hands close around her neck: "I'm sorry my pretty, but it's you or me. It has been an honour knowing you, it will be an honour to kill you," he says, almost admiringly.

Tony opens his eyes, sees Elijah leaning over her prone body. Hears his words, and with a roar, grabs the broken cue stick and leaps into the air. Throws his full weight as he shoves Elijah off Ziva, jamming the cue into the soft flesh just below his shoulder.

Elijah screams with pain, reaches up and pulls out the bloody cue stick, while trying to disentangle Tony. They tumble and roll, each fighting for dominance, the upper hand. As Elijah's hands close round Tony's neck, Tony scrabbles to find something, anything. His fingers close around his discarded knife. Using his last ounce of energy he stabs wildly, and as his world starts to fade to black, hears the whoosh of air leaving dying lungs.

And then… just… silence.

* * *

Halfway across the world, Hadar straightens his flak jacket, checks his pants for crease marks, and satisfied, nods to Sarah. She lifts the phone, speaking quietly: "You may go in," she adds, placing the handset back on the receiver.

Taking a deep breath, he opens the door, closing it behind him. Shoves his hands deep into his pockets – an air of calm, a show of being comfortable and secure in his surroundings - without being offensive. The director leans back in his chair, smirking: "I trust the mission is a success?" he questions slowly, lazily almost.

"Indeed. The loose ends are being tied up as we speak," Hadar says, nodding, his face a mask, no emotion escaping the carefully schooled features.

"And Agent DiNozzo? He has been…?"

"Terminated as per your order," is the reply.

The director smiles even wider: "Excellent, excellent. Ziva?"

"You were right Director, the thought of Tony and the team's betrayal was too much for her, and she welcomed death when it was offered to her. Her body has been placed in Agent Jethro Gibbs' basement and an operative is lying in wait to set up the agent's suicide." The lie slips easily from Hadar's mouth as he sees the almost childlike glee light up the director's deranged features.

"Share with me one thing, Director, why is this so important to you? Why sacrifice your last living child to seek revenge on one man? Why Gibbs?"

The director looks at Hadar coolly: "Because I can. His arrogance has always astounded me. I could overlook the death of one of my men. But then, he over-stepped his boundaries. He took something from me, more than just my son's life. Ziva was the last thing I had, and in an instant, in a moment, she turned on Mossad, her upbringing and me for another world, another father-figure, an unwanted lover. They all deserved to die. No one crosses Eli David," he adds, spitting his words out.

"Until now.." the quiet response makes him look up, confusion flashes across his features, quickly replaced by disbelief.

"It is not for me to judge - that is for our God," Hadar adds, pulling the trigger. One, two, three times. As blood blossoms over the director's white shirt, Hadar, knowing he has only seconds, presses the send button. Got to love technology, his last conscious thought, as the door springs open, guards file in, firing wildly. Falling against the director's desk his eyes flutter shut: mission accomplished.

* * *

Abby paces in her lab, as Ducky sits calmly watching her. She is waiting to hear from Gibbs and McGee… not knowing if the news is good or bad, if she has lost one friend or two… Her computer tings – incoming message. Weird, she thinks, not recognising the foreign number that has sent the voice recording to her. Presses play and listens. "Oh, my…" Ducky utters, as Abby turns to look at him, her normally pale face, visibly paler.


	15. Chapter 15 Out of the Ashes

**Disclaimer: same as last chapter, same as next.**

A/N: Thanks so much for the brilliant reviews – they keep me going! See, I updated quickly!

**Chapter fifteen: Out of the ashes**

Broken and bleeding, but alive. Both of them. She on one side of the room; he on the other. Barely able to stand, Ziva moves towards Tony as he pulls himself up, eyeing her warily. He knows the wild look in her eye, and realizes that it is directed at him. She shoves him hard in the chest.

"What the hell, Ziva?" Caught off guard he stumbles back as she, with what is left of her flagging energy, shoves him again. This time he does fall, and doesn't get up.

Her breathing heavily. "You slept with her," she spits out, her energy sapped.

"Seriously?" he looks at her agape.

"Seriously? You have been kept captive for a month, tortured and beaten in three different countries, your father has to be a villain of Tarantino standards – and this is what you get pissy about?"

At this, she slides down against the wall next to him, her limbs tangling with his, as she whispers, the last of her spirit gone: "I expected it of them, of him, but not you, never you…" the last words she says and he hears before they both succumb to the darkness once more.

* * *

And this is how they are found, a few minutes later, as Gibbs and McGee smash through the door, guns at the ready.

Their blood mingles together, their limbs entwined, a modern day Romeo and Juliet, the bodies of their enemies lying slain around them. Gibbs, securing his weapon, falls to his knees beside them, McGee just behind him, checks first for one pulse and then the other.

Light, flittering, barely - but there. Back-up swarms the room, takes in the scene, as in the distance sirens can be heard getting louder and louder, bringing the hope they so desperately clung to.

* * *

There they lie; their beds side-by-side at Bethesda Naval Hospital. Who knew the prestige and power the silver haired agent and silver tongue doctor yielded?

Tony is lucky, a cut to the head and a knife wound to the leg, both of which needed stitching. His broken shoulder, just mending, has been dislocated, his wrist broken.

Ziva's wounds, however, are more severe. Four weeks of continuous beating is bound to leave its mark, and leave marks it did. Three cracked ribs, hairline fracture to her head, broken wrist. Cuts, both fresh and healing, cigarette burns and severe bruising litter her body.

It isn't the visible wounds they worry about, but rather the invisible ones - the ones that will take a lot longer to heal than mere broken bones.

They sit, their family, their protectors – Gibbs, Ducky, McGee, Abby and even Palmer… watching over them, loving them, healing them.

It is Tony who wakes first, his light groaning alerting them. His eyes flicker open; he licks his dry, cracked lips, and utters just one word… "Zi-va".

Again, licking his lips, weakly uttering a bit louder this time: "Zii-va".

Half asleep, Gibbs and the others jump up, crowd around him.

Gibbs, looking over to where Ziva lies, her dark lashes gently kissing her bruised cheeks, gestures for them to help him push the two hospital beds closer together.

He gently lifts Tony's good arm, rests it in on Ziva's bed, tenderly lifts her hand and places it on Tony's hand. His fingers immediately enclose around hers. His eyes flicker shut, as hers flicker open. She sighs deeply, closing them again. This time, the pain etched on her features, eases away, replaced instead with a gentle smile.

Gibbs just shrugs and says: "What? They like each other's space."

And their guardians, look at each other, and allow themselves to breathe once more. McGee leans over and hands Abby a perfectly starched handkerchief. She smiles through her tears. Ducky rubs in a circular motion over Palmer's back, he hiccups with relief.

* * *

Tony is able to sit up by the first day, gets up by the second. The third day, he is discharged. Ziva wakes up the first day, sits up the second and gets up the third.

As soon as she is awake, she pushes Tony away, both literally and figuratively. Happy to see the others; closed off to him.

He bides his time, accepting that much had come between them, before Israel and after. And she needs to heal. Who is he to question that?

Each night, as she sleeps, he creeps back and sits, watching over her. Not touching her, but in her space. And she sleeps on. Before the sun rises, before the night shift changes to morning, he is gone, a mere shadow.

* * *

She has been in hospital a week, her wounds healing. She is still weak, but her stitches have been removed and she is ready to go home. She requests to be taken to NCIS instead, still not entirely sure of where home is.

Gibbs supports her as she walks through the doors. They stand, one by one, her team and the others. Then the clapping starts, just one person, then another, and another, and another, until the wave ripples through the room. Vance standing, watching overhead, nods down to her as she looks up, there will be time for discussions and explanations later.

She is welcomed, she was missed - she belongs.

Even that one agent whom she terrorized her first year, breaking his nose after he drunkenly tried to grope her at the annual end of year party, gives her an awkward pat on the back.

She walks over to her desk, where Tony still sits – looks at him, questions in her eyes.

He leans back, hands behind his head, trying to display more confidence than he feels (because he knows this is what is expected of him) and says: "Thought you would prefer me sitting here, more than anyone else."

Shrugs his shoulders, his fragile mask cracking under her gaze: "At least… I thought you would."

He stands, side-stepping one way as she does the other, a slight dance. But, not like they used to, never like they used to.

He moves back to old his desk, McGee quickly shifting, trying to pick up his gear: books, paper and stationary spilling out his arms as he stumbles to his own desk, once occupied, now empty.

Ziva swivels in her chair. Noticing her pictures posted up on the pin board behind her desk, reaches up and touches, running her fingertips over the faces.

"Everything else is still in the box, in the bottom drawer," Tony says gently, without apology.

"Thank you," she responds equally softly, the first words spoken to him since that night, in that room, in that warehouse.

She opens the drawer, picks up the box and places it on her lap. Lifting the lid, she looks inside, taking out each object of her past, trying to see her future.

There are a few more objects than she remembers: a piece of black polished stone; a small off-cut of wood; a tot glass; a dried yellow rose bud tightly furled; and wrapped in tissue, a small gold charm, in the shape of a phoenix.

She looks up, but instead of his green eyes, the space is empty.

Sighing, she pushes back her chair, moves towards the elevator and the one place she knows he will be.

* * *

And there he is, leaning against the counter in Abby's lab, exhausted, crushed, and unable to heal himself.

Ziva enters the lab, returns Abby's smile and acknowledges her half-wave before gingerly moving over to Tony.

"Why?" is her solitary question. He stares up at her, not knowing how to answer or where to start.

"How could you get your stones off with her?" she asks.

"Rocks," Tony answers quietly, automatically, "I think you meant rocks…"

She slams her fist down on the counter, making McGee who has been dozing jump, almost falling into Abby's lap.

She continues, coldly, deadly: "You knew, Tony. You knew I was alive, you knew that I was in trouble. But instead of trying to follow my clues, instead of trying to find me – you decided to fall into bed with the woman that replaced me! I saw the tape, Tony, I saw everything…"

At this Tony barks a harsh laugh. "Everything Ziva? Everything? Somehow, I don't think so. But you know what, you are right. What I did, was wrong. Once again, looking out for my own selfish needs. And of course, you would never use your body, your soul; to get information you need, now would you, making you feel little more than a whore…"

With this, he stands. "I'm glad to see the old Ziva is back and the fire we were so worried may be extinguished, is still there. But…" he falters. "I. Cannot. Do. This. Anymore. I am too tired to fight any more. Nothing I say at this point will make a difference to you. Tony, the chump, who acts first, asks questions later… That's all you think I am and I simply don't have the fight left in me."

He takes a key off his keyring, places it on the counter next to her, speaks matter-of-factly: "You need a place to stay. It's yours. If you want it, need it. But now, I am going home, I am going to crawl into bed and I am going to sleep."

He leans over, kisses Abby on the cheek and pats McGee on the shoulder, before walking out, leaving them all staring open-mouthed behind him.

"He is right, you know," the voice of reason comes from the back of the lab, where he has been sitting.

Ziva looks up with hooded eyes, seeing her mentor languidly stand. Gibbs gestures over to Abby. "Show her."

"Ah Gibbs, you know I wouldn't normally question you. But are you sure… are you sure about this?"

Gibbs nods once, and the video rolls, showing Tony and Rachel in bed.

"I have seen this once before, I don't really think I want to see it again," Ziva replies.

"Just watch," Gibbs responds.

Ziva turns her heavy eyes back to the screen, watches as Tony collapses, calling out her name. Watches as he stands up, pulls up his pants, mutters an apology to Rachel and walks out the room, tears streaming as he does so.

"This is footage we pulled from the safe house, Ziva," Gibbs explains, placing his hands carefully on her shoulders, turning her to face him. Her head dips, and placing his hand under her chin, he lifts it.

"That man hasn't slept properly since the moment we left you in Israel. He was adamant that you were in trouble, before any of us could see it. He was adamant that you were still alive, when the rest of us accepted your death. And he did everything, everything he could possibly do to ensure your safe return to us. He spent a week at your bedside, watching over you, protecting you because he wasn't able to before. He killed for you Ziva, with no regard for his own life. And yes, perhaps sleeping with Rachel wasn't the best way to get the information we needed, but it worked, and you are here, safe with us."

It was the most Ziva has ever heard Gibbs say, that any of them has ever heard Gibbs say in one go.

Picking up the key, she looks at the man with the hard blue eyes, now tinged with concern.

"Can you give me a lift Gibbs? I think I need to go home."


	16. Chapter 16 Between Love and Loathing

**Disclaimer: Same as previous, same as next…**

A/N: Thank you, thank you, thank you for all the reviews!!! Okay, so this is still angst-ridden, but there is hope… I promise.

**Chapter Sixteen – Between Love and Loathing**

Gibbs comes round the side of his car and opens the door for her, easing her out. Leaning down, he kisses her forehead lightly before pushing her in the direction of the apartment block.

Ziva looks back only once, sees him standing against the door of his car. He lifts his hand, and she returns the gesture, a tiny wave. And then she is gone.

He climbs back into his car and rests his head against the cool rubber of the steering wheel.

There is still much to sort out – Ziva's father and the investigation – for one. But, for now, it is important that his agents be allowed to heal.

Jenny would laugh at him; say he is getting soft in his old age, that he is a hopeless romantic at heart. And perhaps, he is.

But he won't admit it to anyone. Not now, not ever.

With a sad smile, he starts his car, turning in the direction of his own home, where his bourbon and basement are waiting for him.

* * *

Using the key, she lets herself in. The muted light of the hallway casts a yellow glow. She walks into the kitchen, and there she finds the first note, written in his hand and propped up against the toaster.

"Z – There is some homemade soup in the fridge if you want it. Just reheat for five minutes. Bread in the bin, next to the toaster. You will say you are not hungry, but you are, so please just eat. – T"

She opens the fridge, takes out the bowl and pops it into the microwave. While looking for a spoon, she sees the second note. "There is coffee and water waiting in the machine, just switch it on. But if you want that awful stuff you call tea, it's in the cupboard, next to the sugar."

This time she smiles gently, switches the kettle on and finds her teabags. She doesn't think she is hungry. Surprising herself, she quickly eats the minestrone soup, leaning up against the kitchen counter. She enjoys the tastes and textures that don't hurt her aching face.

Rinsing her bowl, she brews her tea, and kicking off her shoes, makes her way through to the bedroom.

He lies across the bed, on his stomach, fast asleep. Dressed just in a pair of jeans, his chest and feet bare. He must have collapsed there after his shower, as his hair once wet, is now dry, tufts sticking up comically. Putting her tea down beside the bed, she tip-toes into the bathroom.

On the bathroom mirror, another note: "I wasn't sure what shampoo and soap you use, so had to guess. There is a razor and a toothbrush, and a hairbrush as well, and one of those thingie-majiggies you use for your hair. Fresh clothes and towel beside the bath. – T"

Turning the water on in the shower, she strips as quickly as she is able and steps in. Careful not to get her cast wet, grimacing at her awkwardness, clumsiness.

She picks up the shampoo and sniffs deeply – vanilla, jasmine and ginger – she guesses. The bodywash matches.

It is uncanny; she probably would have chosen the same thing herself. Still clutching the bottles to her chest, she slides down the wall. How can this man, this Neanderthal, know her so well? Down to her shampoo preference. How can one person be so invested in another, without question, without wanting anything in return?

She washes slowly, carefully, making certain that she doesn't catch sight of her broken, damaged body in the mirror. Wrapping the huge bath sheet around her, she slowly dresses.

Grunting as she manages to eventually pull on the track pants and hoodie. Picking up the brush, she tries, unsuccessfully to untangle the knots that have accumulated. Hot tears of frustration cling to her eyelashes.

"Want some help?" Tony asks wearily, stumbling into the bathroom, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He doesn't ask her why she is here, what made her change her mind. Simply holds his hand out and gestures for her to sit on the bathroom floor.

He sits on the side of the bath, her nestled between his legs. Close enough to feel his body heat, his presence, but not him.

He gently, carefully, detangles the curls. She bites her torn, cracked lip. Funny _that_ this would be the pain which makes her wince. She has been so brave, so strong for so long; that now something as simple as a kind gesture makes her eyes water. She sniffles, just once and blinks back the hot tears. If he notices, he doesn't comment. Just carries on brushing.

When he is finished, he places the brush on the side of the bath. Stands carefully, and without asking, slips his hands, mindful of his cast, under her armpits and hoists her up. He steps cautiously around her, still mindful of her space. A reminder of how much has changed in a few short weeks. Once, he wouldn't have thought twice about it, or even noticed it.

Now it is palpable, and the space, both literally and figuratively is widening.

"Going back to bed," he mumbles, lifting his good arm and running his hand through his hair, leaving it sticking up even more.

Ziva hesitates at the doorway of the bathroom, uncertain, unsure.

"You coming?" his voice drifts across the darkened room, muffled by his pillow.

Sighing, Ziva switches off the bathroom light, and makes her way to the bed, using just the moonlight streaming in through the open window as her guide. Lifting the cover, she sinks onto the bed. Hesitates for another moment, watching Tony's back, the steady rise and fall of his breath. Sighs again, turns away from him and pulls the cover up over her shoulder.

And this is how they fall asleep. Two bookends, back-to-back. Not touching, just there.

* * *

Ziva wakes first. And for a few moments, in that limbo between lucidity and dreaming, she feels something she had rarely felt before: calm, comfortable and protected, despite the heaviness over her waist - Tony's cast. As she shifts, his arm tightens around her, his hand pulling her closer. She stiffens slightly, then, realising he is still asleep, relaxes into his hold. She closes her eyes again, allowing herself to drift off. In the half light, a light smile twitches on Tony's lips, and soon he too succumbs to the sleep they both so desperately crave.

* * *

The second time, it is Tony who wakes first. Gently extracting himself from her grasp. He stands watching her for a few minutes. Dark circles ring her eyes, exhaustion evident.

He is gone by the time she wakes. She realises this immediately. And she is surprised. She is a light sleeper, always had been, always had to be. She yawns and stretches. She must have been exhausted to have not even noticed.

Smelling fresh coffee, she slips out of bed and makes her way through to the kitchen. Some cut fruit, yoghurt and muesli are waiting for her, along with another note: "Z – The boss says take it easy today. Says if you come in, you are fired. Now go back to bed. You need your sleep. T"

She scoffs at the note, dresses as quickly as she can in the clothes that had been left for her: black cargo pants, new; a purple shirt, new and her favorite boots that she had left by her desk.

She shakes her head when she realizes the bra and panties, a little sexier than what she would have chosen herself, are the perfect size. Typical, she thinks, he always claimed he could size a woman just by looking at her…

* * *

She closes the door behind her and starts down the stairs, almost tripping over Tony and Gibbs, sitting waiting on the staircase, cups of take-away coffee in their hands. Standing and handing a cup to her, Tony reaches into his pocket and pulls out ten dollars, pushing it into Gibb's outstretched hand.

"Boss, you were right," he mutters, walking towards the car as Gibbs' phone rings.

"Got a body, DiNozzo, phone McGee and tell him we will pick him up on the way."

* * *

And so, they settle into a routine. Work and home, home and work. Kind of like living back in his frat house, Tony thinks, picking up her bra that is lying on the floor and hanging it on the doorknob.

They still haven't spoken, not about anything that counts. They are still cautious about each other's space, circling each other like wary dogs, not entirely sure of which animal instinct to give into…

But at night it all changes. Their sleep bringing with it what their bodies fight against all day. Instinctively they curl into one another, clinging to each other.

As soon as the dawn starts to break, as soon as they leave their dreams behind them, the space between them widens once more.

* * *

It is on the forth morning that Tony accidentally walks in on Ziva. Not thinking, still half asleep, he stumbles into the bathroom, desperately needing to relieve himself. That thought immediately leaves his mind and body, as he catches sight of her naked form.

Her back to him, he takes in the slowly healing cuts, the mottled bruising, the cigarette burn marks. He hisses, his breath siphoning through gritted teeth, without even realizing.

Ashamed, insecure, she quickly pulls her robe up over her shoulders. Tying it tightly, spins round to face him.

She sees the looks flash in his eyes before he manages to hide them: pain, anguish and… loathing.

She grabs hold of the door handle and slams it shut in his face. On one side, she slides to the floor, the tears she fought against for so long, hotly slipping down her cheeks. On the other, he rests his head against the door, his own eyes closed in anguish.

Not knowing what else to do, he turns away, pulls on his jeans, sweater and loafers. "I'll see you at work, 'kay…" he utters says quietly to the still closed door.

Neither wants to verbalize what needs to be said. So, they do what they always do. Ignore it, bury it and the gap between them widens even further.


	17. Chapter 17 Whispering Shadows

Disclaimer: you know the drill…

A/N: Thanks again for the reviews – I really enjoy it when you share what you think, your own insight into the pictures I am painting with words. Thank you…

**Chapter Seventeen: Whispering Shadows**

He doesn't say where he is going, and she doesn't ask. He just packs his bag, says he will be back late and for her not to wait up.

They have managed to avoid making eye contact with each other all day, not hard to do when you are stuck in the office doing paperwork.

He hovers in front of her desk, seemingly wanting to say something. Opens his mouth, but no words burst forth, he swallows them instead, like bile. She doesn't look up, just nods to show that she has heard him, and continues to stare at her computer screen, her fingers tapping on the keyboard.

He leans forward and gently drops a light, chaste kiss on the top of her bent head. As he turns his back to her, she lifts her head, watching, with hooded eyes as he picks up his backpack and leaves the room. He doesn't look back, his steps don't falter.

She goes home – Tony's home. Funny how in just a few short days, she is already thinking this way. It is comfortable, welcoming… and dangerous.

She is restless. Makes herself some tea, potters around the kitchen. Picks up her book, and sits on the couch. Then stands and paces to the window, staring out into the darkness.

Sighing deeply, she moves towards the bathroom, shedding her clothes as she goes. Her reflection catches her eye and she stops, turns, tilts her head to the side as she sees herself as Tony had. She remembers his green eyes, once full of desire, now flowing with pain, anguish and loathing.

The warm water sluices over her body, releasing the tension she has unknowingly been holding. Bends her head from side to side, rolls her shoulders. Stepping out the shower, she pulls a black cargo pants, white vest and a black hoodie.

She doesn't want to be alone, but where else can she go?

* * *

Abby sits on the bottom step, her back against the wall. Her arms are wrapped around her knees, her legs pulled up to her chest. Her chin rests on her knees.

The thin rasping sound of sandpaper over wood is comforting, as is the silence that settles over the basement. She smiles slightly to herself, watching the younger man and his older mentor, as they move in unison, an inadvertent dance.

Tony's hand hesitates, hovers over the wood. "Gibbs, you should have seen it – the scars, the bruises, the burns… I cannot even begin to describe what she must have gone through… what I put her through…" his voice breaks.

Abby senses a shadow above her, the slightest motion that flits for a moment, then vanishes. She stands, the stair squeaking ever so slightly under her weight.

"I'm going to make a batch of my famous hot cocoa. You two come up when you are ready," she says quietly, in part to give the two men some privacy, and to see if her assumptions are right.

Her stocking-clad feet make no sound against the hardwood floors as she ascends the stairs.

As she suspects, Ziva is standing in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe. Her eyes closed in distress.

"Come," Abby whispers, taking hold of Ziva's elbow lightly, and steering her towards the kitchen. She pushes her gently down on one of the wooden chairs at the kitchen table, scarred with years of use.

Bustles around the kitchen, knowing exactly where everything is as she gets the fixings for cocoa. Puts on the gas stove, places a saucepan over the flame to heat up. The whole time, she keeps up her monologue, never once looking at Ziva who listens intently.

"It's been like this since you left. It has always been the place we have come to – when we need to hide from the world, when things get tough or our lives are in danger – hasn't it?" Not waiting for an answer she continues.

"I think it's because it's the one place we all feel safe. Even Ducky and Palmer have come on occasion. McGee, me… Nothing was said, no invitation was made. We just came, one by one. Tony was the first, I think. The day they left you in Israel. And he returned every night. Worked on that boat until he could no longer. It was the only way he could get any sleep. When he could no longer think, or feel, he would collapse on Gibbs' sofa."

She glances over at Ziva, who stares at the worn table top, her thumb nail etching a groove into the already pock-marked surface.

Satisfied that she is getting through to her, Abby continues: "He stopped for a while, when… well you know. He didn't want to raise any suspicion. Or make things any worse for you than they already were. He blames himself, you see. Thought he could save you; make it better, but that plan backfired."

She stirs the sweet smelling mixture as it bubbles and heats.

"It's funny, you know. When Tony stopped coming, so did we. Been about two weeks or more. And then…tonight. I don't know. I was packing up in the lab, and McGee came down. We kind of looked at each other and nodded. We got here, and there's Tony, working with Gibbs on the boat. It was just like he had never left… McGee's gone to get pizza. Should be back shortly…"

She trails off, putting the steaming mug of cocoa in front of Ziva.

"Take a sip; it really is a magical drink. Somehow, everything just falls into place. You gain a little perspective…"

Ziva smiles sadly at her, lifts the cup to her lips.

The sound of footsteps makes them look up as Tony and Gibbs enter the kitchen, Tony gently teasing Gibbs about something. He stops mid-sentence, leaving whatever he would have said hanging in the air between them.

Before they can say anything, make any comment, Ziva quickly stands, moving to the stove.

"I think you need a cup of cocoa." She says, huskily.

Tony looks at Abby, confusion imprinted on his features.

She shrugs her shoulders lightly. Gibbs leans against the counter, watching, one eyebrow slightly raised.

Tony steps forward, slumping sideways into Ziva's recently vacated chair, his head in his hands. Everything he has been holding back, bottling up, comes out in a rush of air.

"Ziva, I am so sorry. I wanted to protect you, help you. But all I did was get your hurt."

Ziva places the cup of hot steaming cocoa next to him. Stands looking down at him for a few second, before sinking down onto her haunches, she tilts her head and peers up at him.

"Don't apologize. It's a sign of weakness. Gibbs' rule." She replies softly.

"Yeah, and what about never screw over your partner? Never take anything for granted and always work as a team – those are all Gibbs' rules as well… Didn't do so well on any of those, did I?" He shakes his head in disgust.

McGee bursts in, bouncing the hot pizza boxes: "I didn't know what you guys wanted. So I ordered two extra large – thought we could sha…" he breaks off.

"Ziva, you are here? Good, there is plenty of foo…" he babbles uncontrollable, as Ziva straightens, her hand still on Tony's shoulder, her eyes never leaving his face.

Gibbs clears his throat. "Abs, McGee, why don't you set up in the lounge. I'm gonna take a quick shower then will join you there," he suggests gruffly, indicating with his head that the others should leave.

"Oh, oh right," answers Abby, her chair scraping the floor as she jumps up. "We will…um… we will be in the… take your time." She throws over her shoulder, pushing McGee in front of her, still slack-jawed and clutching the pizza boxes to his chest.

Brown eyes never leave green, as the others clear the room.

"If I hadn't shot Rivkin," Tony takes a deep breath, noticing the grimace, a flash of emotion that flickers over her face.

"This is all _my _fault. I was trying to be the big hero. I nearly got you killed, Zi…" he dips his head again.

She places her fingertips on the side of his head, gently forcing his head up. Moves her hands to his shoulders, shaking him slightly, as she stares sincerely into his eyes.

"Tony. You must understand. What happened was going to happen. It was just a matter of time. Yes, perhaps you pre-empted it, before I was ready. But, it was always going to play out this way."

He dips his head again, the top resting it lightly against her stomach, as he gazes, unseeing at the floor. She places her hands on either side, clasping his head gently.

"Thank you, Tony. You believed in me. You never gave up on me. And, I want you to know, I never gave up on you, or Gibbs, or Abby, McGee, Ducky, Palmer. For the first time in my life, I feel like I belong somewhere. That I am worth more than the skills I have. That's what made me stay strong and keep fighting. I finally have something worth fighting for." Slipping her hands beneath his chin, she lifts his head. "We stick together right?"

Tony wraps his arms around waist, burying his face against her, as her arms snake around his shoulders, her hair spilling over him like a curtain.

"Thank you," she whispers again, as his shoulders heave, releasing the emotion he had been holding, burying, swallowing for so long.

She wipes her thumb over the tears, creating snail trails through the sawdust clinging to his cheeks.

"Although, I must be honest, playing in the dirt in Gibb's basement; is not where I expected you would be tonight…"

* * *

Gibbs stands leaning against the doorway, smiling.

Shannon would approve of this setting, he thinks to himself, watching the four at his kitchen table, chinking beers and laughing.

He crafted the kitchen set for Shannon, a wedding gift of sorts. She loved sitting here, with Kelly, with him. The stories this battle-worn table could tell…

But it had been empty for far too long, no laughter, no lingering glances, only silence and loneliness.

But this, this is how it is meant to be… McGee blushes as Abby and Tony mock him gently. Ziva smiling, her eyes shining.

Pushing himself off the doorframe, he moves into the kitchen. "And did you tell her about that time when he…" he drawls, taking a beer from the fridge and joining in the conversation.


	18. Chapter 18 The Goth and the Guardian

A/N: Oh wow... thanks again for all incredible reviews. I know I don't reply individually, but please know that each and every one is read, reread and well appreciated!

**Chapter eighteen: The ****Goth and the Guardian**

It's McGee's huge yawn, unsuccessfully hidden behind his hand, which tips them off. They look up at the clock surprised; it's very early or very late, depending on how you look at it. For Ziva, it is close to the time she normally wakes up; for Abby it's the time she usually goes to bed.

"You can crash here," Gibbs suggests gruffly, looking over at the tired, glowing faces and empty beer bottles scattered around his kitchen. "Too late and too much alcohol for you to drive home."

Gibbs doesn't take no for an answer, and because it is Gibbs, and he garners, no demands respect, they agree. Abby and Ziva are to share the spare room with the double bed. McGee gets the fold out sofa in the study, and Tony, well Tony will return to _his _sofa in the living room.

Grumbling, just ever so slightly, they make their way to bed.

* * *

Tony has stripped off his shirt, shoes and socks, lying just in his jeans. He closes his eyes and tries to get some sleep. The house hasn't been quiet long, just a few minutes really. He feels, rather than hears her.

She wavers, hovering at the edge of the room, unsure whether to walk completely in, or go back to the room she is sharing with Abby.

"Can't sleep?" he questions softly, without opening his eyes. The only response is the sharp intake of her breath. "Me neither," he adds, groaning slightly. He lifts up the thin blanket and scoots further back on the sofa, making space for her.

In the dark, she smiles, and quietly pads across to him. He feels the sofa dip ever so slightly with her added weight. She snuggles against him and he shifts his bent arm, creating a pillow for her, her head nestles just under his chin. Her body relaxes into his and he sighs contentedly against her hair.

* * *

He is woken with a start by a loud thump and groan, followed by a searing pain that has him double over.

"What the hell?" he utters as he blinks open his eyes, trying to adjust to the half light. He doesn't see that Ziva is half lying on the floor, tangled up in the blanket, her feet still on the sofa. She kicks him again – hard.

"Could you aim a little lower please," he mutters through gritted teeth. "I may actually need that body part at some stage."

He belatedly realizes the angle she is lying at.

"Whoops – knock you off again, did I?" he asks cheekily, swinging his legs to the floor and sitting up.

She glares at him even harder.

"This… This… is …not working," she splutters, pushing herself off the floor. Still clutching the blanket, she moves to leave the room.

"Well?" she inquires haughtily, turning at the doorway to face him. "Are you coming or not?"

Grinning stupidly, he races after her as she disappears into the spare room.

* * *

This is how Gibbs finds them a few hours later. Ziva in the middle of the double bed – flanked on either side by Abby and Tony – her Goth Angel and Guardian Angel. Shaking his head, he makes his way to the kitchen.

Sunlight streams into the bedroom as Tony opens one eye to stare into the excited mascara-rimmed eyes of Abby peering at him over Ziva's head.

"Imagine my surprise," she says in a stage whisper, "when I wake up to find not one, but two extra people in my bed." She giggles.

"What? Ziva couldn't sleep." He answers petulantly. "I can't help it if the only thing that works is DiNozzo magic," he adds gloatingly.

"I can hear you, you know," Ziva remarks sleepily, kicking him off the bed.

"Again, Ziva? Watch that foot. I am beginning to think you are aiming." He grimaces as he rolls onto his knees, doubled over in pain, his forehead resting on the floor. Abby flops onto her tummy, lying over Ziva's legs, as she peers over the edge of the bed at him.

"Who says I'm not," Ziva mutters, rolling over, dislodging Abby who leans back on her side. Ziva pulls the covers onto her shoulders and closes her eyes again, but not before giving Abby a mischievous grin.

Still groaning, Tony staggers to his feet, the sound of throaty laughter following him to the kitchen.

He is back, within 15 minutes, steaming cups of tea and coffee in his hands. He is wearing a fresh shirt with same jeans, his feet bare, his hair still damp from the shower.

"We've a body – but seems pretty straight forward. Boss says to take your time; we will see you both at the lab later."

He drops a light kiss on Ziva's forehead, before turning to leave.

"What, no breakfast?" Abby asks plaintively. Tony turns: "Made you coffee – what more do you want?"

His retort is followed by a smack to the back of his head. Gibbs glares around the doorframe, McGee peeking out from behind him. "Actually Tony, I made the coffee while you were busy titivating in the shower," Gibbs responds drily.

"That's great, really special Tony. You spend the night in my bed and not even a good morning or goodbye. You sure know how to treat a woman, you know that?" Abby yells at his retreating back. Ziva stifles a giggle.

Tony just lifts his hand and waves, without turning back. "Yeah, that's just how I roll," he replies.

Abby has the decency to wait until the door slams shut behind the three men before she bounces on her knees next to Ziva.

"Soooooo, what you got to tell me?" she asks in a sing-song voice.

Ziva tilts her head, looking at her over the rim of her tea cup. "I don't know what you mean, Abby." She responds, quietly.

"Oh, come on Ziva. You and Tony? You shared a bed last night. Well this morning. Actually, we all shared a bed. But you were here and then you left for a while and then you both came back, but that's not really important." she takes a deep breath before continuing: "What is important is that you shared a bed, and by sounds of things you have been for a while."

Ziva sighs heavily, sadly. "Abs, you have it all wrong. It is nothing. And you know that I have been staying at Tony's, so why are you so surprised?"

"Yeah, I know you are sleeping there, but didn't know you were sleeping in the same room, the same bed. Puts a different spin on things, don't you think?"

Again, Ziva sighs at Abby's exuberance. "Really Abby, it is nothing. He… does not think of me that way."

"But Ziva, he adores you…"

"Yes, Abs, adores me. Like you do a sister….or a puppy."

At this Abby shakes with laughter. "Tony definitely doesn't look at you like you would a sister or a puppy, Ziva – he would be arrested!"

"That's just it Abby," Ziva replies, frustrated. "He doesn't look at me the way he used to. It was a game we played. It wasn't something we spoke about, but there was this way he looked at me, unbidden desire yes?"

Abby laughs in agreement.

"That's gone Abs, completely."

"How can you say that Ziva, how can you possible even think that. I mean you two… Sometimes that sexual tension would be so thick that it enveloped everyone around you, wrapped us all up."

"Abby, I know, okay. Tony and I have been sharing a bed for close on a week. You…you just know these things. I certainly don't have to explain to you do I?"

"Maybe, maybe he's just being considerate, gentlemanly. Did you ever think of that?"

Ziva arches her eyebrow: "Abby, trust me. When he looks at me – it's with guilt, concern. He is not attracted to me any more. He does not…" she swallows hard: "desire me. And, it is okay. I like what we have. We are, how do you say…comfortable?"

She continues: "The only thing is that, we can't keep on like we are. I… I need to think about moving out, getting my own place again. I cannot very well be sitting on the couch reading my book when he brings home a date now can I?"

"Zi-va…." Abby replies, completely aghast.

"What? It's something I need to consider. He is a red-blooded male – he has certain needs and at the moment, I am putting cold water on that – yes?" Ziva replies pragmatically before adding: "Now come on, we need to get to work; they will be there before us at this rate."

Seeing Abby's crestfallen face, Ziva continues: "Cheer up Abby… nothing is changing. It is how it has always been, how it always will be, how it has to be…yes?"


	19. Chapter 19 Swings and Roundabouts

**Chapter nineteen: Swings and Roundabouts**

It has been a hard, long day. The case, while simple, has been time-consuming and loose ends needed to be tied up. Abby bounds into the bullpen just as Gibbs is tiredly telling them to all go home.

"Come on… it's Friday night – we have to go for drinks. We haven't been out to celebrate Ziva's homecoming yet. We can't really count last night. And Joe promised that he will even let you have the good Tequila Ziva…"

Tony looks over to Ziva who shrugs her shoulders warily. "I suppose so," she grimaces, not wanting to let the Goth down. "But am not really dressed for it."

She glances at her attire. She is still wearing the same clothes from the night before, but has replaced her black hoodie with her old olive green military style jacket, that Abby miraculously produced for her.

The day the team left for Israel with Rivkin's body, Abby found the jacket hanging on the back of Ziva's chair. When the team returned sans Ziva, she kept it safe in her lab, secretly hoping that Ziva would come home.

Earlier today, Abby had come bearing the jacket, happily hanging it on the back of Ziva's chair before bounding downstairs again.

Tony barely glances up at Ziva. "You look fine," he says quietly, almost dismissively. It may seem trite or clichéd, but she even looks good in those hideously big NCIS jackets, her cap pulled down low over her head, he thinks as he busies himself with packing up his backpack.

Ziva self-consciously tugs the bottom of her jacket and tries to smooth her wild hair. She exchanges a quick look with Abby, as if to say: "See what I mean?"

Abby's response is simply a quick sad shake of her head. She informs them that McGee is already at the pub, saving them a seat. Hooking the two agents' arms through hers she propels them out of the bullpen, wanting to extend the invite to the others.

Ducky and Gibbs offer their apologies. They are joining some of Gibbs' ex-marine mates for an evening of poker and whiskey.

"Aaahhh, the smell of cigars, the sound of cards shuffled through quick fingers and, of course, a good single malt – I'm sorry young ones – but you are on your own tonight," says Ducky, jauntily placing his hat on his head. Linking his arm with Gibbs, they saunter off to the lift.

"Reminds me of a night so long ago… You see, Jethro, I was outfoxed - by a fox. Her red lips and long legs had me quite mesmerized…" Whatever Ducky is going to say next is muffled by the closing of the lift doors.

Fifteen minutes later, and the team, Jimmy included, is sitting in their favourite booth.

Joe is overjoyed to see that Ziva is still alive. Taking in her appearance and the still healing bruises, he senses that perhaps she isn't quite ready to share her adventure and so, after bringing a free round of Tequila (the good stuff from behind the bar again, this time to celebrate life, rather than commiserate death) and five beers, he leaves them alone.

Lifting the beer bottle to her lips, Ziva glances around. It is good to be back in a normal setting. She can almost believe that the last few weeks hadn't happened – almost…

It is a regular Friday night – with the regular Friday night crowd. The bar is filled with beautiful people and, watching them, Ziva subconsciously lifts her hand to touch the puckering scar along side of her face. She knows that she must look a sight. The bruising is not as prominent as it was, but she still has dark shadows under her eyes, the healing an unattractive yellow-green. The swelling hasn't totally disappeared, and her face is still a little out of proportion. Her usual sharp, pixie-like features slightly distorted. That doesn't even take into account the scars above her eye, and the fine one across the side of her cheek. The doctors said they would all but disappear; a plastic surgeon had been tasked with the stitching. But the one on the side of her face, stitched while she was still held captive, would remain and serve as a reminder of what she had been through.

She sighs heavily, lifts the bottle again and takes a deep swig. She used to be confident. Oh, she never thought she was beautiful, but she knew there was something about her, she oozed sexuality and often used it to her advantage. But, even this has gone and she doesn't know if she will ever get it back. No wonder Tony is no longer attracted to her, desires her.

Again, she touches the puckering scar and slips even further back in her seat. She saw the way the bar patrons looked at her when she had come in with Abby and Tony, like some sort of a freak. She shouldn't have come, she wasn't ready. Lifting the bottle again, she drains the dregs, glancing at the empty bottle in surprise.

Oh well, she thinks. The damage is done. She is here now and for Abby, she will make the best of it…

Tony is watching her out of the corner of his eye. He knows something is up, he sees the emotions flit across her face, clinging for a mere moment before being replaced. It's too soon, he realizes. She is not ready for this and inwardly he berates himself.

They haven't spoken, really spoken about what happened all those weeks she was held captive. They haven't even discussed Rivkin, or that they left her in Israel, and they certainly haven't touched on the fact that she pulled her gun on him in Tel Aviv.

Hell, last night's brief emotional outburst is the closest they have come to the topic. He is worried about her. He cannot even begin to understand what she went through, is still going through.

But what he is assured of is that he will be there every step of the way. He still cannot believe how comfortable it feels, how natural it is to have her living with him. It comes to him with a bit of a jolt - this is what they have been doing.

She is the first woman that he can see himself living with indefinitely. Oh, there had been talk that he would move in with Jeanne, and he probably would have. But again, like so much of that relationship, he would have been living a dream, a fantasy and ultimately a nightmare.

He really didn't think that one through carefully enough. It would have meant one of two things – coming clean to Jeanne, or pretending everyday that he was a college professor. Either way, wasn't ever a recipe for domestic bliss, now was it?

But this, this just seems right. They don't get in each other's way, simply carry on with their lives, adapting and melding without having to discuss who sleeps on what side, reminding to put the toilet seat down, or arguing over who should have picked up the groceries – it just falls into place. The only thing that separates them from other couples is the sex, but he doesn't think she is ready for that yet. He isn't entirely sure what damage, mentally and physically has been caused during her captivity and he sure as hell isn't going to put pressure on her until he is certain. Does mean a hell of a lot of cold showers, but, he reasons, it is worth it.

He knows he needs to get her to talk, but figures that she will when she is ready. If there is one thing he knows about Ziva, it's that she does things in her own time, according to her own schedule and he isn't about to mess with that.

He was there when Vance broke the news that her father was dead, shot by a "rogue" agent. She didn't break down; she didn't even shed a tear. As she was in hospital at the time, it wasn't strange that she didn't attend the state funeral held in his honor. After all, most of Mossad thought she was already dead. Her return would have raised more than a few questions.

Ziva still didn't know of Hadar's recording, sent moments before his death. There are only four copies in existence that Tony knows of. He has one, Gibbs has one, Vance has one and the interim director of Mossad has the forth. It was this that Vance had used as leverage to ensure Ziva's safety on American soil and her permanent position within NCIS. Director David had been allowed to be buried with honor, whatever that was worth. The Israeli government does not want to air their dirty laundry and having this little incident covered up suits all parties involved.

SecNav has taken Ziva's plight to the highest order – that of the President of the United States. Her years at NCIS - plus her unique skill set - makes her a valuable asset, one which the president is happy to keep on their side.

Ziva looks up, catching Tony staring at her. Slightly embarrassed, he turns away from her questioning eyes, casting his gaze over the throng of people enjoying their Friday night. What he sees makes him smile widely. When did the world stop spinning? Is that really the autopsy gremlin at the bar chatting up the women while he, DiNozzo, sits contently in the booth? Hell really is about to freeze over, he chuckles, lifting his glass to cheer on his friend, who clearly doesn't need the encouragement.

Seeing his grin, Ziva follows his gaze. It falls on a woman, standing just off to the side of Jimmy, who is busy at the bar ordering a new round. She is just Tony's type, Ziva thinks ruefully. She is beautiful; her blonde hair bounces neatly at her shoulders, her blue eyes sparkle and shine. The woman notices Tony's smile and responds, lifting up her glass as Tony lifts his.

Abby seeing Ziva's expression, kicks Tony hard in the shin. He spins his head round quickly looking at Ziva with an incredulous expression. "What the hell?" he asks. "What did I do now?"

Ziva snaps out of her own reverie: "Huh?"

"You know," Abby hisses darkly, her eyes crossing as she glares Tony down. Two sets of confused eyes, one brown and one green, stare at her.

McGee saunters back with the round of drinks, having left Jimmy at the bar. He puts the beers down, placing an extra one in front of Tony before sliding into the booth beside him. "Thanks Probie, what did I do to deserve this?"

"Hay, don't look me, it's from the blonde. I'm just the delivery boy" McGee mutters. "She's just your type though," he adds contemplatively.

His words turn to a strangled squawk as he clutches his throbbing ankle. He looks disgruntled at Abby who gives him a death glare in return. "What? I am just saying, if Tony were to go over there… I mean she is clearly interested…" he trails off lamely, looking from Tony to Abby to Ziva, as his words sink in and he realizes his mistake.

Tony clears his throat. "I'm quite comfortable where I am, thank you," he says quietly looking intently at Ziva, who seems more concerned at peeling the label off her drink.

Setting her bottle on the table, she excuses herself from the booth, citing she needs to visit the little girls' room. Unseen by the group, she approaches the blonde, whispers something in her ear as her blue eyes go wide. The blonde glances up again at where Tony is sitting, laughing madly at Abby threatening McGee's body parts.

"Really?" she asks Ziva. "Most definitely," the Israeli assures, before slipping unnoticed out of the bar.

An uncomfortable silence has fallen on the booth. Tony chuckling once in a while as Abby glares and McGee mutters under his breath, still rubbing his aching ankle.

Jimmy returns with a tiny brunette clutched to his side, whom he introduces to the gang as Hilda. As they scoot over to make space for her, Tony scans the room for Ziva, but he can't seem to find her anywhere.

He is so busy looking; he doesn't notice the blonde until too late. She sits uninvited opposite Tony, and leans forward, introduces herself as Sharon, giving him a personal view of her ample chest.

"Aahhh," Tony says, moving forward and placing his arms on the table. "Don't mean to be rude, but that seat is kind of taken. In fact she should be back any moment now."

Sharon leans closer in, her strawberry pink glossy lips now mere inches from Tony. "If you are talking about that poor bruised specimen, she has left. Told me that you could do with a little company, that you needed some cheering up. Said she had seen the way we were looking at each other and thought perhaps I should come over and get to know you better…"

Tony's face is a myriad of expression and color, changing from white, to purple, to red before settling on white again. Slamming his fist on the table he splutters out a response. And Abby, for once, is speechless.


	20. Chapter 20 The Phoenix Rises Part One

A/N: The reviews for the last chapter were amazing. Thank you so much.

**Chapter 20****: The Phoenix Rises - part one**

He is trembling with anger as he shifts gear, his car speeding through the night. Light rain drops dapple his windscreen, teasing, tempting. An indication of is coming; the clouds above angry, dark, bitter. _Fitting_, he thinks.

Where would she go? Where could she go? He is halfway to Gibbs' before he remembers the poker game. Sighing, he does a handbrake turn, the car spins in the wet, but he keeps control, hurtling towards his own place. Would she be there? Could she be there?

His gaze drops to the oddly shaped package on the seat beside to him. Abby had pushed it into his hands earlier that day, saying she thought it would come in handy. Her loopy handwriting with the simple missive: _Magic- everything gains a little perspective._

_Not gonna be that easy, Abs_, he thinks. Pulling into his parking he sees her car. His emotions fire rapidly, rage quickly replaces relief.

* * *

Ziva allows the warm water to unfurl the tension in her body. The pelting drops beating in time with those against the bathroom window. She rolls her neck before slamming her good hand against the wall, yelling out in frustration.

She thinks she hears something, opens the shower door and pops her head out, her eyes wide, heart pounding. The apartment is silent. Just the sound of the rain and the low rumble of thunder. Pulling her head back under the shower, she growls softly: _Get a grip Ziva_...

* * *

Tony drops the parcel on the kitchen counter, lifts his head as he hears the shower. With mounting resolve, he storms the bathroom, shoving the shower door open with one hand and flipping the tap off with the other.

"What the hell, Ziva?" He yells.

She turns; eyes wide and wild.

He hesitates, for just a second. Hastily pulls a towel off the rail, shoves it at her as he continues his assault of words. Anger and frustration dripping: "What crap are you trying to pull? Am I so untrustworthy that you feel the need to test me – or are you simply so disgusted by the thought of me, you feel it necessary to pimp me out… I am not a piece of meat Ziva – it may be a news flash – but I am actually capable of feelings. And right now, I am feeling pretty pissed off…"

He stops. And looks, really looks at her. She is backed up against the shower wall, clutching the towel in front of her, barely covering as she warily watches him. She is not exactly cowering, but she isn't all fire and fight either – and that is the whole problem. He expects her to react – to come flying at him all wild hair, wild eyes and flailing limbs. Instead she remains, backed up against the shower wall, clutching her towel.

He feels like a complete asshole. Defeated, deflated, he leaves the bathroom. And outside the storm rages on.

Tony fluctuates – between self-loathing and frustration. He walks into the kitchen, not entirely sure what to do. His eyes fall on the lumpy package from Abby, and he deftly opens it, smiling just ever so slightly as he does. _Trust Abby – how does she do it?_ He wonders to himself as he tips the carefully wrapped fixings for her famous cocoa out of the small saucepan. Opening the fridge to get the milk, he looks at her written instructions and busies himself with making the cocoa.

Barefoot, hair still damp, Ziva steps into the kitchen. He glances up, briefly. She is wearing the new teal-coloured silk robe that has been hanging behind the bathroom door.

While Ziva was still in hospital, he and Abby picked up some clothing and supplies that they thought she would need. Abby, not surprisingly, went for the practical stuff she knew Ziva liked.

He couldn't help but throw in a few luxuries – such as the pretty underwear, her favourite perfume and the robe she is currently wearing. He knew it wasn't the kind of thing she would automatically choose for herself, and ironically, perhaps for him, he wasn't imagining her in them at the time, but rather he felt that every woman deserves to feel special, beautiful - particularly after what she had been through.

Shaking the thoughts out of his head, he continues stirring the cocoa. Without being asked, she opens the cupboard and pulls out two big mugs, placing them on the kitchen table. She lifts herself onto the counter, watching him under heavy lids.

He pours the cocoa into the waiting mugs, and opens the packet of mini marshmallows, sprinkling them on top. Handing her a mug, their fingers touch lightly and he pulls back as if burned. He turns, packing away the ingredients, cleaning up.

"I knew Michael was up to something," she breaks the silence, her voice low and controlled. "I knew and I let him. I thought it better to keep him close, while I do my own investigation and hoped he wouldn't become suspicious. But when Gibbs and Tim came back from LA and all those questions were raised - I knew he had gone too far. It's ironic really, the same time you were confronting him, I was calling Hadar, requesting a forcible extraction."

She takes another sip. "I tried to keep you out of this, Tony. I wanted to keep you safe. I was trying to protect you. This is why I pushed you away. I thought you would leave it alone. I thought if I pushed you hard enough, you would be hurt and perhaps even sulk about it. I thought I knew you well enough to press the right buttons and estimate what your response would be…"

"But, you didn't take into account the human factor, did you?" Tony interrupts quietly. He pulls a chair out, sits, the physical barrier of the table and floor space between them. "You being you, forgot to build in that emotions enter the equation."

Ziva nods slowly. "And you nearly ended up dead because if it. Michael did end up dead." A little of the old Ziva ire shines briefly through.

She pulls her robe around her tighter. "When I walked in and saw you there… and saw him there…I couldn't believe that you were alive and that he was dead. Not because I wished you dead, but rather because I was relieved you weren't. I was conflicted. I was sad, I mourned his death. You must understand, Michael and I, we went back a long way. We were partners, and more than that. The situations we were in, the operations we carried out, trust was imperative. And I mourned the shattering of that trust. When we were ordered to Israel, I knew what I had to do. I knew that I had to stop you snooping. I knew that I had to break you to get you to walk away. And you did."

She takes another sip. And Tony watching her, does the same.

"Staying on that tarmac and saying goodbye was one of the hardest things I have ever done, will ever do. I didn't know at that stage what would unfold, what would happen. I was prepared to die, was ready to die. But, something kept me fighting, hanging on. This team has taught me that there is more to life than following orders. And, when I realised the extent of what was unfolding, I knew you would follow the little hints I set up. At least, I hoped you would. You are a better investigator than you give yourself credit for, Tony."

With this, she jumps down off the counter. A flip of teal, a flash of skin. Tony swallows hard, bows his head. It's not the time, may never be the time.

"It was all planned. We were due to disembark in Somalia. Regroup and infiltrate the camp. But it didn't play out that way. One minute I was standing with my men, and the next…I woke up, my head wrenched back, searing pain, and a demand to give up everything I knew about NCIS. When he took my necklace and pocketed it… then I realised. All my nightmares, I was living them…"

With this, she walks over to the wine rack. Glancing over the bottles, she picks up a South African Merlot – 2006 – and two red wine glasses. Taking the bottle opener out of the drawer, she walks into the living room. The lights are off, and she leaves them this way, just the light from the passageway illuminating the room, the shadows dancing across the floor as the thunder rolls and lightening flashes.

Tony follows, not knowing what else to do. He gently takes the bottle from her, easily opens it and pours as she continues her story. She doesn't wait for him, and he doesn't interrupt. She tells of the pain she endured, the endless days and snatched sleep when she was just too exhausted to keep going. She tells him that despite never wanting to be captured alive, when she was, she was too damn stubborn to die. She tells of the abrupt kindness shown that just confused the pain. She tells of the desolation of realising that her father, the man that gave her life, was the very one who was trying to take it away and she explains that she finally understands the importance of life over death.

Her voice breaks as she unveils the pain that she has kept buried for so long. She runs out of words, her voice hoarse. And for the first time since she started talking, she looks up and into Tony's eyes.

He breaks the gaze, stands unsteadily and moves towards the kitchen. He is back minutes later, another bottle of wine in his hands. Deftly opens it, pours her a drink, it's his turn to speak.

He shares the range of emotions that hurtled through him as he made his way to her apartment that night, how he didn't want to think that she was involved, but was going to confront her anyway. How Rivkin completely riled him, how he thought she was dead and how he attacked him with all he had.

He tells her the complete emptiness he felt when lying on the sun-warmed ground of her homeland, the hatred that clung to her eyes, and the realisation that the fragile state of their relationship had shattered along with his shoulder.

He speaks of the desolation he felt when they returned home without her, how Abby tried so hard to hide the blame her face revealed when she realised that Ziva wasn't returning.

How he found solace in the depths of Gibbs' basement, solidarity with the man with the hard blue eyes. The only one who could fully understand, comprehend what he was going through, because he himself had been there. He shares how Gibbs didn't offer understanding, empty words of comfort. How he didn't shake his head when Tony sought answers at the bottom of the bourbon bottle. Instead, he was there, he listened and he replaced the bourbon with a hammer, a saw and sandpaper, allowing Tony to pour his frustration, his energy and his hurt out on the unwavering, never questioning wood. How he never saw it before, but Gibbs is like the very boats he builds.

He describes the body they found outside the naval base, that they all believed it was her. That he believed it was her, until he looked a little closer. And, he reveals, somewhat sheepishly, that the entire team now knows of her tattoo and where it is.

Ziva looks up at him sharply, cocks her head to the side. "We will come back to this point later, yes?" she states, pouring another glass of wine for them both. She crosses her legs on the sofa, waves her hand for him to continue. And he does.

He tells of being in Israel again, saying goodbye and his conversation with Aunt Nettie. Swallowing hard, he describes meeting Rachel and how he knew she, Ziva, was telling him something. He paints the picture of the loathing Abby directed at him, how torn she was as she felt disloyal to her friend and how they had to convince her that this was the only way.

He explains how Hadar found him running their route through the park and told him what he so desperately wanted to believe.

He divulges that while Hadar may seem like he turned on her, betrayed her in the vilest manner, that ultimately he did it to save her. And, at this, he lifts his hand, gently, tenderly running his fingertips over her puckering scar. He continues, saying that in his mind, Hadar died a hero, rather than the villain he has been painted for eternity. That he planted a tree, next to her own, as he feels someone of Hadar's strength of character deserves to be remembered and what better way than a growing organism, that bends and bows with the wind, yet remains firm in its roots.

He skims over Rachel's seduction, but describes the phone call that came while he sat here, on this very couch and as he saw Gibbs' number show up on the screen, he immediately knew Rachel was gone, and that he had been instrumental in her death.

He admits that if he had to choose again between her death and Ziva's life, he would do the same and he hopes that doesn't make him a bad person. He reveals the depth of the guilt he felt, he still feels, not just for the life cut short of the woman he barely knew, but for the betrayal of the woman who sits before him, who he so desperately hoped was still alive.

It is the last five years stripped bare, naked in all its pain, degradation and simple honesty. He looks at her and asks the question he doesn't really want the answer, but needs to know anyway. "Did they… did they hurt you?"

She barks a sharp laugh at the absurdity of his question. It takes her a few seconds to fully understand what he is asking. And when she does, she slowly shakes her head. "No, no. It was just that one time, and you were there, Tony, you were there to stop him. You saved me," she adds quietly.

The tears roll down his cheeks. "Again, I'm so sorry. I am so sorry." He bows his head, holding it in his hands. She leans forward, pulling him against her chest. His tears mingle with hers as she holds him tight, rocking him, like a child. "It's okay. I am okay. We will be okay." She whispers against his hair.

He is not sure how long they sit this way, a mere space between them, the final barrier beginning to crack and disintegrate. She glances up; the rain has stopped, the sun is rising, breaking through the clouds.

"Look," she whispers nudging him, "look – it is a new day and it is going to be beautiful."


	21. Chapter 21 The Phoenix Rises Part Two

**Disclaimer: same as always**

**Warning: Suggested adult themes. Ah, who am I kidding, they are not just suggested, they are here in black and white. I haven't changed the rating on this, as this is the last chapter. So please forgive me, and I have issued a warning for sensitive (or young) readers. **

**Chapter 21 – Phoenix Rises: Part two **

Tony sits back up, sees the pinky red of the morning sun gently kiss the clouds behind Ziva's head. A wet sheen clings to her cheeks. He reaches forward, tenderly wiping with the soft pad of his thumb. His hand still lightly caressing her face, he waits for just a moment, before trailing his fingers over the puckering line of the scar she detests so much.

Watching; waiting. Her brown eyes never leaving his own green. She hasn't openly given him an invitation, but she hasn't shied away either. He leans forward; his breath tickles the side of her face, as he ever so gently kisses her scar.

Moving across he kisses the fine silvery line above her eye, before kissing the one down the side of her face. And when she doesn't pull away, or smack him for that matter – he pushes a little further. A light touch of his lips to the side of hers. Her mouth parts in surprise and taking the opportunity, he flicks his tongue along her bottom lip, before softly sucking.

Sitting upright he lets out a ragged breath: "Wow, you are beautiful."

"Am I?" she asks quietly, pensive. There is no false modesty, no fishing for compliments, and Tony realises yet again, just how much she has been hurt. And he looks at her, really looks at her.

Slipping her slender legs out from under, she stands. Before he has a chance to respond, she has untied her silk robe, holding it wide open, displaying the body that is hidden within.

"And now?" she asks quietly. His eyes take her in – all of her – as he allows himself the slow journey from her feet up to her face. He sees the healing wounds – the evidence of her capture - the fading bruises.

"You take my breath away." He whispers, his voice raw with honesty. Standing, his eyes stare deeply into hers, and she notices the desire that dances there. Closing his eyes briefly, questioning his own sanity, he captures the back of her head in his hands and pulls her towards him, his lips meeting hers, playing, caressing, tasting.

There is urgency in both of them, an insatiable need. Gasping for breath, they pull away and she views the truth in his eyes. A light smile flickers on the corner of her lips.

Sighing heavily, he pulls at her robe, closing it and his mind against the vision of her.

The hurt immediately flares in her eyes, the rejection, the humiliation.

"Not now Zi, not like this."

"What, not like me?" she asks, nastily, spitefully even. She is embarrassed; she laid herself bare – literally. And he rejects _her_? _What _was she thinking?

"No. Never. Don't do this Zi, don't question my motives here." He answers sadly. "We have just had two bottles of wine and have been more honest that we have ever been. This is too important. We have to be sure, you have to be sure…I am not about to ruin anything with a quickie on the living room floor."

She stares at him – a schooled blank expression.

He sighs again, heavily. "I don't know about you, but I am exhausted. Let's go to bed, Zi."

* * *

He is already lying on his side by the time she enters the room. A few minutes pass before he feels the bed dip, and turning, without opening his eyes, he reaches for her. She has changed, back into the oversized sweater and track pants she favors and lies on the far side of the bed, perched precariously on the edge. He pulls her closer, not too close, but close enough.

* * *

A few hours later, he wakes to her screams, her body thrashing as she is chased in her dreams by demons unknown and unseen. He pulls her even closer towards him, wraps his arms tightly around her and while she still sleeps, whispers words of comfort, love and home. She whimpers softly, he nuzzles her neck, gently calming her. And soon, her breathing is less ragged. She folds her body into his, relaxes against him.

"I'm not going anywhere Zi, like it or not, you're stuck with me. You are home now." He continues to whisper the words he wouldn't dare voice while she is awake.

* * *

When she wakes again, it's early afternoon, the sun streaming in the window. From the bathroom, she hears the sound of a shower running, and Tony's tuneless singing. She stretches in the bed, and glances around the room.

Her clothes, neatly hang in half of the wardrobe, Tony's in the other. The top drawer in the chest of drawers is hers; Tony has laid claim to the other three, but he does have more stuff than her – and it is his chest of drawers.

She knows that two backpacks, packed and ready, sit side-by-side in the passage cupboard along with their work boots – one pair big, the other small.

In the kitchen, her tea sits next to his coffee, her favorite veggies, salads and fruit fill the fridge.

A bookshelf has made its way into the living room, her books packed as neatly as his DVDs next to the TV, and there with a place of honor on the top shelf, is the photo that once sat on the director's desk. Tony never explained how he managed to get hold of the picture that means so much to her – the photo of Ari, Tali and herself.

And in the bathroom, she knows, her toothbrush sits along side his. Her toiletries scattered, and her smattering of make-up rolls round the bathroom cabinet drawer.

Stretching again, she looks over at the clock, and sees the gold phoenix charm with ruby red eyes hanging off a delicately fine chain. She smiles, thinking how apt the design is. She remembers seeing the charm on that first day back, nestled in the tissue paper of her memory box and realization floods her – he must have bought the charm while she was still incarcerated, before he knew for certain she was alive…

And the truth hits her with a shudder that ripples through her body. She doesn't need to find another apartment, another home – Tony is right - she has one already, she is home.

Smiling to herself, she slips out from under the covers; clutching the necklace in her hand. Stripping her clothes as she goes, she attaches the light chain around her neck. She slides into the shower behind Tony, working her hands under his arms, wrapping them around his chest. She presses a smattering of light kisses across his shoulder blades.

He chuckles. "Ah Theresa, I hope you didn't wake my roommate as you snuck past?"

His deep laugh quickly turns to a high pitched squeal as Ziva pinches his nipple hard between her fingers.

"Want to rethink that?" she growls low in his ear, as she stands up on her tip-toes, her body sliding up against the back of his.

"Umm, well, if this is my punishment…" he turns, facing her, lightly resting his hands on her hips as he leans back against the shower wall.

"Seriously Zi – are you sure? If you are not ready, we can wait. There's no pressure. I'm not going anywhere," quietly repeating the words he said while she still slept.

He holds his breath, waiting to see what her reply will be. It may not exactly seem like a declaration of love, but, for him, it is just as if he has said out loud the words that linger and pound in his chest.

She nods, tilts her head to the side and answers. "Just one thing – you need to give me another drawer. Seriously Tony – find another place for your hair products."

And with this statement, he knows she acknowledges and returns his unspoken words.

She collapses in giggles as he lunges towards her.

* * *

The first time they had sex was in anger – shortly after Gibbs disappeared on his self-proclaimed hiatus. Sex is the polite term for what they did, it was quick and heady, an explosion of pent-up frustration.

The second time was a way to get through the grief and pain they felt after the Director's death. Hot tears mingled with the salt of their own bodies, sad and sweet as they reaffirmed life.

The third was desperation – the night Vance split the team. It was slick and dirty. They clung to each other as they pounded away, not knowing if this would be their final memory as the scent of lust clung in the air.

But this time, this time was different. It was healing and tender, delicate and beautiful, and full of promise. They took their time, learning, exploring. They brought each other to the edge, and away again, ebbing and flowing until neither could take it any more, screaming as they went over the abyss, spiraling out of control then collapsing, spent, still entwined in each other.

And now wrapped in each other, they sleep. The final barrier shattered, the final wall torn down. They are complete.

* * *

Another week passes; each day gets a little easier, the memories fading at the edges, becoming a little more blurred. Her bruising has almost healed, barely visible under the subtle, soft make up she wears.

Gibbs isn't stupid. He knows what they are up to, knows that they are living together in every sense. And he knows that this is their own journey and any mistakes that will be made, will be made by them and them alone.

They are not him and Jenny and he accepts this. Plus DiNozzo is well aware that he will lose vital body parts if he steps out of line, and once Ziva has exacted her revenge, both he and Abby will be waiting to finish the job.

Gibbs also recognizes the intense glances the two share, when they think no one is watching. And it reminds him of what he once had. He understands this need, and not wanting to let it go.

If he were honest with himself, he was worried that things would change, that the dynamic would change. He had become used to the idiosyncrasies his team has, and to him, it feels like home. Watching them now, he realizes his concerns weren't necessary.

Oh, they still like each other's space, more so, now they have the familiarity of lovers. But it is not at the expense of others, rather, it's an unconscious move, as if the invisible thread that once tugged and pulled them towards each other, has reconnected.

It has taken a while, but that spark, that fire that made Ziva, well Ziva is slowly returning, keeping Tony, and the others, for that matter, firmly on their toes.

She may be more patient, more tolerant than she was five years ago, but hell, Gibbs certainly doesn't ever want to get on the wrong side of her.

Tony, having rushed through his paperwork (Gibbs knew he would battle to decipher the chicken scrawl and miss-spelt words later), was gathering his ammunition – a drawer full of crumpled paper balls, which he is now tossing, at regular intervals. His prime target clear: Ziva's bent head.

She doesn't stop her work, simply growls, the warning signal that she is about to pounce. He chooses, perhaps unwisely, Gibbs thinks, to ignore this. He doesn't look up, continues to read over his report, as he idly tosses another paper missile in her direction.

His skin prickles and he immediately realizes his mistake. His head jerks up; her desk is empty.

Hot breath against his skin, the gold phoenix with the ruby eyes swings forward on the delicate chain, brushing against his cheek. And the hair on the back of his neck bristles. He tenses his muscles, a second too late, as she shoves his chair hard against his desk and twists the offending arm behind him.

Just as it is about to get ugly, McGee comes ambling in, a coffee cup and bagel in his hand.

He looks over at the two in confusion – taking in Ziva's sweet smile and Tony's pained grimace.

Satisfied she has made her point, she saunters back to her desk.

McGee, his eyes still darting between the two, flops into his chair, and the wheels fall off – quite literally - rolling away under the desks.

McGee - now wearing his coffee down the front of his shirt, a dazed expression on his face - glances over at Tony, who simply shrugs.

Throaty laughter echoes across the bullpen. Two sets of eyes swing towards Ziva, who wears a smug grin on her face. She twirls the spanner between her fingers, the three nuts and bolts that once held McGee's chair together, displayed on her desk like a trophy.

And from his desk, Gibbs smiles – people don't change - situations do.

**A/N:So this is the end of our journey. I hope you enjoyed this as much as I loved writing it. And I hope I maintained the integrity of the characters. X K**

**PS: Have posted the first chapter of new story: The devil you know… just in case you are interested...**


End file.
